


Illusion and Dream

by AlElizabeth



Series: Undertow [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Torture, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:45:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 99,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When Sam draws the attention of people claiming to be demons, Dean stops at nothing to protect him. With the help of some new-found allies, Dean begins to unravel the mystery that seems to centre on his brother and plunges them both into a world they never knew existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brother

Frozen in the place I hide

Not afraid to paint my sky with

Some who say I've lost my mind

Brother try and hope to find

You were always so far away

I know that pain so don't you run away

Like you used to do

-'Brother' by Alice in Chains

The first time he said anything was two weeks after the funeral.

He's still grieving, I thought and what Sam had said didn't cross my mind again until he showed up on my doorstep three days after that, looking terrified and confused.

He stayed for two days exactly. On the third day when I woke up to go in for work Sam was gone. I just shrugged. The kid was always wayward and I wasn't surprised he'd left without as much as a note.

W

The next few months after that went by in a flash, my family caught up in a whirlwind we could do nothing to stop.

There was the phone call that changed everything.

I remember the flight out of Buffalo International to LAX, the drive in the cramped rental car to Palo Alto.

There was the hospital. And Sam. The doctors talking about sleeping pills and alcohol. Sam talking about someone or something killing his girlfriend. Sam looking pale and fatalistic. Doctors looking grim and serious.

Mom crying and Dad yelling. Sam not apologizing for anything.

Then the tense trip back home. All four of us.

I watched. I watched Mom and Dad but mostly I watched Sam.

Then the words, "I think there's something wrong," tumbling out before I could stop them.

Another hospital. More doctors. Tests: X-Rays, CAT Scans, MRIs.

The doctor looking unhappily from Mom to Sam and me. His brow pinched. Lips pursed as though to keep in the words he was about to speak.

Then the doc spoke the two words that would change our lives forever: Paranoid schizophrenia.

W

I cruised down Blythe Avenue at a leisurely pace, carefully watching the other cars driving beside me, listening to the commotion on the two-way radio.

Jimmy sat in the passenger's seat, blue eyes alert for any sign of trouble, a speeder or a drunk driver.

"How's your Dad doing?" Jimmy spoke up, giving me a quick glance from the corner of his eye.

I shrugged and maneuvered the cruiser into the turning lane.

Jimmy nodded, "So, not great then."

"I didn't say that," I protested.

"I know but you didn't have to say anything," my partner confirmed and I sighed. I had been working for the Utica PD since graduating college and Jimmy had been the one to take me under his wing, we had been together practically since I had stepped through the station's glass doors. Although Jimmy was only five years older than me I treated him as though he was a veteran cop and he didn't really seem to mind since half the time I felt as though I was his kid brother anyway. Jimmy was a great guy, one of the best cops I knew and a genuinely good person- he lived in the neighbouring city of Rome with his wife, Amelia and their daughter, Claire- the guy always played the 'good cop' role and he was well liked by everyone at the station. Even though Jimmy was a cop he was pretty 'apple pie' as far as apple pie goes- the man went to church every Sunday he had off for Pete's sake!

"That gets really annoying, you know," I muttered, not really irritated at all.

Jimmy just smiled and shook his head, "Something's bothering you."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and took my eyes off the road for a moment to look at Jimmy- his blue eyes now large and round, a concerned expression on his face, his lips pursed in a frown- damn, he knew me too well.

"I'm just worried about Sam," I muttered. This wasn't new information- I was always worried about him.

"Did something happen?" Jimmy asked. Although he had never met my brother, I had told Jimmy about Sam- not something I would tell just any Tom, Dick or Harry I worked with. I trusted Jimmy, sometimes with my life, and I knew he was the kind of guy who'd keep his mouth shut about such personal things as my brother's mental illness.

"No, no," I said, "But my Dad hasn't seen Sam in over six months. I just don't understand it – Sam's his kid but he couldn't care less. And Sammy, man, he's not getting better either… every time I go it's the same thing."

Jimmy nodded as though he understood or at least sympathized.

I was actually planning on visiting Sam when I got off work that evening and as usual the thought was both disquieting and heartening at the same time.

I missed my brother even though he was still in the city- work prevented me from seeing him as often as I would have liked. I knew Mom had visited him every chance she got and Dad sometimes came along as well. But now, Dad was as dead-beat as it was possible to be. It was difficult for the both of us, seeing Sam in the hospital when he should be outside and living his life but my father was getting out of hand.

Just be patient, I always told myself, everything will be okay.

"He'll get better," Jimmy said assuredly.

"I know, but when?" I asked, rhetorically. For the last few years Sam had been in and out of the hospital- more often in than out, even- and that took a heavy toll on my parents, seeing him having to go back when it looked like he was starting to get better.

Jimmy shook his head and sighed. I turned the car and we entered the parking lot at the back of the station. When I stepped out Jimmy came to stand beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder in a brotherly fashion.

"God works in mysterious ways," he said quietly.

I bit my lip to keep from saying something sarcastic- I knew Jimmy was just trying to help.

I just wish He'd work a little bit faster, I thought and we headed inside.

"Hey, Dean!" Randy Ziegler called from his desk.

"How's all that paperwork coming along?" I joked. Randy and I had gone to school together and while I got a job with the public, Randy got a cushy desk-job. He didn't seem to mind all that much though, he looked more like a scholar or professor than a police officer anyway, always wore thick-rimmed glasses, his hair combed back and wore sweater vests over dress shirts. His badge dangled from around his neck as he bent closer toward his computer screen.

Randy chuckled and shook his head, "Beats running like a maniac after criminals who just don't know when they're caught."

I moved to the coffee machine at the back and poured some into a Styrofoam cup and moved over to my barely-used desk. I had a mountain of paperwork to fill out- I had been putting it off- and decided I could at least make a dint in the pile before heading home.

W

I was just about to fill out my tenth form when the doors to the station opened and I glanced up to see Walker striding in like he was the Captain.

I held back a groan and bent over my work, scribbling untidily on the forms.

Gordon Walker had only been promoted to Detective a couple of months ago and he acted as though it was the greatest honour to be bestowed upon an officer. The douchebag seemed to think that he was now so much better than beat cops like Jimmy and I- never mind that not too long ago he was one of us.

Walker and I had never gotten along and this promotion made it even worse- he liked to rub it in my face every chance he got because, through the station grapevine, everyone knew the Captain had been considering me for the position.

Detective Walker strolled up to my desk and grinned arrogantly down at me.

I didn't even look at the smug bastard. If I did I was afraid I'd punch him in the face.

"What the fuck do you want?" I asked under my breath.

"How's it feel to be at the bottom of the food chain, Winchester?" Walker asked, leaning against my desk.

"Wonderful," I muttered and grabbed another form from the huge stack and began filling it out.

"Awww, don't be like that, the Captain could only choose one of us and he picked the best," Walker smirked.

I gripped my pen tightly; I still did not look up at Walker. It wasn't that I had wanted the Detective position, not really, but why did it have to be Gordon Walker?

Walker had always been full of himself, even as a beat cop and that really ticked off anyone he worked with so he never had a partner- people just couldn't stand his personality.

Walker and I had taken an immediately dislike to one another. I couldn't stand his holier-than-thou attitude. I'll admit that I can sometimes come off as cocky but I am not as bad as Walker- man thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread- and that is not an understatement.

"Okay, children, recess is over," I heard Jimmy's voice and Walker sidled away.

Jimmy ran a hand through his jet black hair and watched Walker as he moved to get himself some coffee.

"I could have handled it," I said, angry that Jimmy had intervened.

"I could tell," Jimmy commented, "You might wanna let go of your pen before it explodes."

I released my grip on the pen.

"Why don't you call it a day?" Jimmy suggested.

"Sure," I said and stood, "I'll see tomorrow."

W

I drove home and changed into a pair of jeans and a red and black plaid shirt. I made myself a quick sandwich and then drove the twenty minutes to the Doctor Alexander Coventry Memorial Psychiatric Hospital- a mouthful I know, locals usually call it Alexander's- named after Utica's first physician.

I walked down the way-too-familiar hallways and waved to the nurse on duty.

"Hi, Officer Winchester," Cheryl smiled and greeted me. I knew all the nurses by name since I had been coming here for years.

I paused and leaned against the thick, pinewood desk, "I'm not on duty so you don't have to call me 'officer'.

"Sorry," Cheryl said and blushed, "I forget."

I smiled reassuringly.

"Sam's in the rec room I think," Cheryl said and looked up when Mona came over.

"Hey, Dean," Mona brushed a hand unconsciously through her light brown hair and adjusted the top of her light yellow scrubs.

"I'll see you ladies later," I smiled and the pair of them blushed like schoolgirls.

I walked down the hallway and stepped through the sliding door and into the recreation room. It was a large area with an old brown couch, two armchairs, a television set showing some Bugs Bunny cartoon, low shelves holding battered board games and four tables.

There was some old woman watching the TV. She had stringy white hair and was cradling a doll in her arms as though it was a real infant.

A young woman sat at one of the tables, counting on Rosary beads. Both women wore plain blue pajama pants and white short-sleeved shirts.

I saw one of the orderlies, Floyd, standing by the door, glancing at the few occupants blandly.

Sam was sitting at the table in the corner, his chair pushed into the angle the two walls made where they met- he had told me once he didn't like sitting with his back in the open, he always had to have a wall or something sturdy to lean against in order to feel safe.

I made my way through the room and took a seat across from my brother. He didn't look up or acknowledge me right away. He was bent over one of his notebooks, felt-tip pen in hand, sketching.

"Hey, Sammy," I said quietly and Sam looked up and his eyes met mine.

"Hi," he said and his glaze flicked back to his work.

"How're you feeling?" I asked.

Sam shrugged one shoulder, "S'okay."

"Yeah?" I continued.

Sam didn't answer and I looked around at the room again. I saw that the young woman was staring straight at Sam, her lips moving as she muttered her prayers, her fingers drawing the beads through her hands with ease.

"Sam, that girl is staring at you," I said.

Sam didn't even look up, "That's Bernadette. She's new. She stares at everybody."

"Okay," I said, still a little unnerved at my brother being gawked at by a mental patient.

I leaned back in my chair. Visiting my brother was always difficult- I didn't really know what to say to him.

I fell back into my old routine- I told Sam what I had been doing since I had last visited- only a couple of weeks ago.

Sam listened, well, I think he was listening because his head was bent over whatever he was drawing but I think he was paying attention.

"How's Dad?" Sam asked, his green eyes meeting mine.

I sighed, "Dad's… well… Dad is Dad, you know?"

Sam nodded as though he understood. When the doctor had informed us of Sam's illness Dad flipped out- he accused the doctor of being incompetent, demanding the man do the tests again, argued that there was no way, no way his youngest boy could have a mental illness. Dad spoke those two words as though they offensive, spitting them out at the shocked doctor.

Dad never had come to grips with the fact that Sam was sick. He blamed the doctor for a while but then he started blaming Sam. Somehow he thought it was my brother's fault that he was ill. Sam's doctor had explained that his illness had not been caused by anything Sam had done, that there were many factors that could cause schizophrenia and it would not solve anything to blame the patient.

I remembered the conversation Mom, Dad and I had had the day Sam was committed to Alexander's.

Mom was just about beside herself in tears. She was convinced she was a horrible mother for leaving Sam at the hospital even though I told her over and over again that it was the best place for him, that he would get better there.

Dad claimed that if Sam had acted normal none of this would have happened.

I bit my lip so I wouldn't snap at Dad but I couldn't help but think of how much of a bastard he was right then.

In the end Dad rarely came to see Sam in the hospital, always making excuses so he wouldn't have to go. The most common one being that he had to work late at the garage. It was garbage, I knew, he just didn't want to see his son in a psych ward.

Dad had now practically disowned Sam. Our mother died six months ago from an aneurysm after her last visit to Alexander's. She had come home and said she wasn't feeling well, fell asleep on the couch and had never woken up. Dad and I were crushed but the hardest part about it had been telling Sam. He hadn't been able to attend the funeral and had become severely depressed for weeks afterward. I think Dad somehow thought Mom's death was Sam's fault, which was pure bullshit but it just gave our father another reason not to see his son.

I examined my brother as he sketched. He looked pretty thin and tired although I knew it was probably side-effects from whatever meds his doctor had him on. He unconsciously tugged the sleeves of his bathrobe down farther over his wrists and I saw that his nails had been bitten down to the quick.

I sighed inwardly: I had been hoping that Sam was getting better, that maybe his doctor would release him into our custody soon.

"What're you drawing?" I asked Sam.

My brother turned the notebook around so that it faced me and I saw a portrait of a young woman with long, straight hair, large eyes and a dimpled, smiling mouth- his favourite nurse, Jenny.

Sam had always had a talent for drawing, he loved sketching people and he was really good at it, almost professional. I always felt a little bit jealous of my brother since I could barely slap together stick figures.

"That's really good, Sammy," I complimented. I was impressed that he had managed to draw her face completely from memory.

My brother gave a small smile at my praise and I thought about what Dr. Calhoun had said about always being positive, of focusing on the achievements and not dwelling on the losses.

I stood and stretched. Sam looked up at me expectantly and I held back a frown. I knew he wanted to leave and I wanted to see him away from this place but he still had a long way to go before that could happen.

"I'm gonna talk to Dr. Calhoun for a minute," I said, "I'll come by next week, okay?"

Sam lowered his head, "Okay Dean."

I turned around as I felt my heart break as it always did when I had to walk away from Sam.

I stepped out of the rec room and into the hallway with a quick "g'bye" to Floyd. I walked down the hall and knocked on the good doctor's office door.

The door opened and Dr. Mavis Calhoun stood there. She was a short, chubby, middle-aged woman with dark red hair that was almost black, and dark brown eyes. She smiled when she saw me.

"Hello Dean," she said and moved aside so I could come in.

I took a seat across from her so we were separated by her huge desk. There were bookshelves containing numerous medical texts, certificates on the walls, and a framed photograph of the doctor with a grey-haired man I took to be her husband.

"How's Sammy doing, Doc?" I asked.

"I have him on some new medication and it seems to be working well," the doctor said.

"Another one?" I couldn't help but ask incredulously. Sam had to have been on every anti-psychosis medication known to man since his arrival at the hospital.

Dr. Calhoun looked sympathetic, "I know, Dean, but we're really trying to find the one that will work in the long term."

I nodded; the doctor was doing her best. She'll find the right drug soon, I thought, just be patient. You know certain drugs affect people differently.

"Is Sam sleeping enough?" I had to ask, remembering how tired he had looked.

"Hm," Dr. Calhoun said and that was an obvious 'no'.

Sam would go without sleep for days because the voices he heard told him not to and even though he wasn't supposed to, he listened to them. Eventually Sam would sleep, from exhaustion or if the doc was forced to give him something.

"Is he eating alright?" I asked.

"Yes, but the drugs I have him on can cause weight loss," Dr. Calhoun said, "I'm sorry if that worried you."

I frowned. Sam had always been a skinny guy but now I worried that he'd end up losing too much weight.

I raised a hand and swiped it over my face. All I wanted was some good news for once.

"I know how difficult this is for you, for your whole family, but we are trying very hard to help Sam," Dr. Calhoun promised, "We want to see him healthy as much as you do, Dean."

"I know Doc," I said and stood, "Thanks."

I walked down the hall, glancing at the glass doors of the rec room and saw that Sam was no longer inside. I checked my watch and saw it was five-thirty, the time when the patients had dinner.

"See you later, Cheryl," I said to the nurse. Mona had left to take care of some other business she was left alone at the nurses' station.

"Bye, Dean," Cheryl called from the desk, remembering to call me 'Dean' instead of 'Officer Winchester'.

W

I arrived at my townhouse, kicked the neighbour's soccer ball back onto their own lawn and stepped inside. I grimaced: my neighbours were a couple of hippies with three young boys who ran wild all over the place.

I took off my coat and hung it in the hallway closet, slipped off my shoes and padded into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. I swiped my cell phone from my pocket of my jeans and dialed a number.

I sat down on my couch and gulped down some beer while I listened to the phone ring.

"Yeah?" A deep, male voice asked.

"Hi Dad," I said, "I went to see Sam today."

"Uh huh," Dad answered in a disinterested tone.

I ground my teeth, "Don't you think it's about time to go see Sammy yourself? You haven't even seen him since before Mom's funeral."

"I'm really busy right now, Dean-" He began but I interrupted him.

"Don't feed me that crap! Sam misses you, you know? I think he'd like to see you," I exclaimed. I was the only visitor Sam ever got in Alexander's and it made me sad how my appearances were the highlight of his week.

"I don't know, Dean," Dad hesitated.

"Oh c'mon Dad, don't act like that, we both know the truth," I snarled.

Dad was scared of Sam. That was it. Dad didn't like the fact that his son had a mental illness.

"I'll think about it," Dad said finally.

"Don't think about it, do it," I ordered and hung up the phone.

In need of some frivolity after that conversation so I dialed a different number:

"Hey, Mindy, you doing anything tomorrow night?" I asked and smiled at her answer.

W

The next couple of weeks went by slowly. Jimmy and I got the usual jobs- cruising the streets on the lookout for speeders or drunk drivers, keeping our ears open in case a colleague needed backup.

Jimmy asked after Sam. I told him the truth. Sam was the same as ever, no better or worse. Told him about the new meds and my hope that this time they'd keep working in the long-term.

"He doesn't want to be in there, Jimmy," I said and watched the cars whip by our position in the driveway of an abandoned factory.

"I can see it in his eyes every time I go over there," I continued when my partner nodded.

"I understand," Jimmy said, "I know it's a bit different but when we had to put my mother in a home because of her Alzheimer's she was always asking Amelia and I when she would she be leaving."

I grunted in confirmation that I'd understood.

I sighed and settled back in the seat. I grabbed my cup of coffee from its holder and gulped down some of the warm liquid.

Jimmy looked at me sympathetically. He knew this was hard on me and I guess maybe he wanted to help but I couldn't see anything he could do. I knew he volunteered at the local hospitals, talking to the patients and stuff like that- especially the elderly ones and those who didn't have any family but this was different, like he'd said. Sam didn't really respond to anyone unless he knew them well, I think it may have been a result of his illness since he never quite knew if the person he was talking to was real or just a hallucination.

I waved away Jimmy's worried expression and slurped some more coffee.

W

When I stepped inside the station, after my shift I was surprised when Donald McNally said the Captain wanted to see me.

I looked at Jimmy and he just shrugged.

"See you later then," he said and headed back out toward the parking lot where our civilian cars were.

I knocked quietly on the Captain's door, slightly nervous.

"Come in, Dean," the Captain ordered, his voice muffled by the door.

"You, ah, wanted to see me Captain?" I asked.

"Yes, please take a seat," Captain Baggot gestured to the chair on before his desk.

I sat and looked expectantly at the Captain- he was probably in his late sixties or early; he had a full head of steely grey hair, a well-lined, weathered face and hazel eyes. He cut an imposing figure, his posture perfect belying the fact that he probably served in the Korean War, his mouth a thin line.

Captain Baggot tented his fingers and placed his hands on his desk.

"Do you think I made a good decision promoting Walker over you?" He said, straight to the point.

"Uh," I blinked. I was not at all ready for that kind of question.

"Yes," I said slowly, wondering what answer the Captain wanted.

"Huh," he said, "Walker's an asshole and he's too big for a city like this. Know what I mean?"

"I think so," I hesitated.

"How would you feel if I had Walker transferred to, say, NYC or Buffalo and promoted you to Detective?" Captain Baggot asked.

"I, uh, I don't know Captain," I stammered like an idiot.

"It's not that difficult of a choice to make, Winchester," the Captain said.

I had never really wanted to be promoted; I liked my position and knew that if I made Detective I'd lose Jimmy as my partner.

"Can I have a few days to think this over?" I asked. I could feel my palms growing slick with sweat.

The Captain frowned and then spoke, "It's Friday so I'll give you until Monday to make your decision, that sound fair?"

I nodded, surprised that the Captain was being so accommodating.

"I like you Winchester, I always have," the Captain complimented, "You're good with people, know how to talk to them and that's exactly what makes a great Detective. Your were made for better things than just being a beat cop."

"Thank you, sir," I said modestly.

"Now get outta my office," he said but I saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

I sidled down the hall and did nothing to suppress a grin: I didn't want to leave Jimmy, didn't want to see him end up with some rookie but I could just imagine the look on Walker's face when the Captain told him he'd be shipped out to inner-city New York or Buffalo, crawling with tourists.

Just that look would be worth it; I thought and exited the building, ready to head home.

I should see Sammy; I decided and stopped at my townhouse to change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before making a bee-line for Alexander's.

W

I stepped inside and headed straight toward the nurses' station.

"Hi," I said to Isabelle who was on duty.

"Hello, Officer," she said in a husky voice. I chuckled- I wasn't her type. It was sort of a running joke we had, seeing who could flirt better- and asked after my brother.

"I tink he's in his room," She said, her Caribbean accent quite noticeable.

"Thanks," I said and after grabbing the key-card I headed down the hallway where Sam's room was.

I got to the door and swiped the card, unlocking it and slipped inside. Sam's room was pretty Spartan- it had a bed, a small closet and a desk with a chair.

My brother was sitting at the desk, piles of black notebooks tottered around him as he bent over his latest drawing.

"Hey, Sammy," I said and Sam turned around, looking slightly, though pleasantly surprised.

"Dean!" he stood up and actually came over and hugged me, an unusual gesture for him.

"What's the matter?" I asked immediately and held Sam at arm's length to get a better look at him. He was wearing the usual blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His bathrobe was draped over the end of his bed.

"I'm… I'm, uh, hearing them again," Sam said and looked around the room suspiciously.

I frowned, "Did you tell Dr. Calhoun?"

Sam began to nod his head and then he paused and shook it instead.

"Why not?" I asked, trying not to sound angry.

Sam lowered his gaze to his slipper-clad feet, "She'll just give me more medicine. I don't want anymore, Dean."

I sat down on the edge of the bed and gripped both of my brother's hands in my own, "You have to tell her Sammy. If you're hearing the voices that means this medicine isn't working and maybe a different one will."

"It won't Dean! It won't work because she's tried and tried and tried," Sam exclaimed.

"You don't know that Sam," I began but then stopped and wondered if any medications were going to work.

"Oh Sammy," I muttered and pulled him into a hug. I could feel him shiver beneath me.

"You cold?" I asked and scooped up the bathrobe.

Sam muttered that he was and slipped his arms through the robe's sleeves.

"Better?" I asked and Sam nodded.

His dark brown hair fell into his face, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he pushed his bangs out of the way.

"You know you can't listen to them, right?" I asked, seriously.

"I know, Dean," Sam confirmed.

I wondered if he was seeing things as well but I didn't get the chance to ask because the door opened and a young woman wearing light green scrubs walked in.

This nurse was a tiny little thing with light blonde hair cut pixie style and dark brown eyes. She smiled, "Hi, I'm covering for Jenny, poor thing called in sick with the flu about four hours ago."

"Hi," I stood and introduced myself.

The nurse was holding a paper cup of water in one hand and a paper cup with four pills in the other.

Sam easily towered over the small nurse and I'd be worried if I didn't know my brother was a really gentle guy, wouldn't hurt a fly and all that.

Sam took the cup with the pills and washed them down with the water provided.

The nurse smiled encouragingly.

"It was nice to meet you Dean," she said and walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Sam sat down heavily in his chair and held his head in his hand, his fingers tangled in his hair.

"You okay?" I asked worriedly.

"Mmmhmm," Sam muttered.

Sam frowned, "Why won't Dad speak to me?"

"Just because he isn't talking to you doesn't mean he doesn't care," I answered lamely.

"He thinks I'm not going to get better," Sam said.

"He doesn't think that, Sam," I protested, "We both know you're gonna get better and come home soon."

Sam shrugged, not really buying my story.

I've really got to talk to Dad when I get home, I thought. I was sick and tired of him pretending Sam was a complete stranger.

Sam fidgeted in his seat and I decided it was probably time to go. I said goodbye to Sam, promising to see him again within the next couple of weeks and left Alexander's.

W

I parked, paused to move a bike out of the walkway before opening the front door to my house and stepping inside and turning on the lights.

I slipped off my shoes and realized that my usually quiet home was less quiet. I froze and held my breath, waiting.

I padded down the short entranceway and peered into the living room. Sitting on my couch was a man.

I jumped into action, without my gun handy I prepared to tackle the burglar.

"Hold on there, son!" the burglar said in a gruff voice and raised his hands in a defensive position.

"You robbed the wrong house, buddy," I snarled.

"I ain't robbin' yer house," the man said and stood.

"Hey, get on your knees and put your hands over your head!" I demanded.

"All's I wanna do is talk to ya," the criminal tried again.

"Shut up," I said, "Get on your knees. Now!"

The man sighed but instead of complying, spoke: "Yer brother's in danger."

I blinked, "What?"

How did this guy know that I had a brother? He must have been rifling through the shoe box I kept in the closet, full of pictures of Sam and I when we were kids.

"I don't want to restrain you but I will if you don't co-operate," I said and sidestepped closer to the end table that had a pair of handcuffs in the built-in drawer.

"I know ya don't wanna do that," the stranger said and he took a step closer to me.

"Don't move!" I cautioned.

"S'alright boy, I ain't gonna hurt you," the man said and I held back the urge to laugh.

"Look, would ya just calm down a minute while I'm talkin'?" he asked and I nodded but didn't change position. I realized that the man's hands were empty, he didn't have a weapon.

"There," the man nodded and we both took a moment to breathe.

"How do you know I have a brother?" I asked. I was still itching to put handcuffs on the guy but if he knew something about Sam than I could wait.

"I know all about you, Officer Winchester," the man said and then continued, "Yer full name's Dean Ross Winchester. You were born on January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy-nine to Mary and John Winchester of Lawrence, Kansas. Yer family moved to Utica when you were four, only a couple a' months after yer brother was born. You graduated from high school and college wi' honours and have worked for the Utica PD ever since."

"How do you know all that?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Cops aren't the only ones who can do research," the man chuckled in a good-natured way.

"You… said my brother was in some kind of trouble?" I asked. I wasn't sure I trusted this man but if he thought Sam was in danger then I would listen… and arrest him later.

"Yup," he paused and scratched the back of his head, "Look, yer not a very religious man are ya?"

"No," I answered, wondering what that had to do with anything.

The man breathed a sigh, "This just got a lot more difficult."

"What?" I asked.

"I'm just gonna skip the 'easing you into it' business and tell ya right out," the man explained, "I think there's demons after yer brother."

I blinked, took a breath and then let out a loud laugh.

"That's a good one," I said with mirth, "You had me going there for a while. Did Jimmy put you up to this?"

The man, instead of looking embarrassed that I'd found out my partner's practical joke, appeared annoyed.

"This ain't no joke, boy," the man snapped, "Yer brother's in danger and unless you wanna be the one cleaning up the body afterwards I suggest you get yer ass down to that hospital."

I stopped laughing, "Did you just threaten my brother?"

I bristled and the man answered calmly, "It ain't me you've gotta worry about. Demons are nasty sons of bitches and once they set their sights on a victim they're not gonna give up wi'out a fight."

"Demons?" I asked incredulously.

"Look, I'm not sayin' you've gotta believe me, all I wanna do is git your brother somewhere safe," the man answered.

Who'd want to hurt Sammy? I thought, the kid was practically the BFG.

I took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over my face.

"Okay, let's say for the sake of argument that I do believe you," I began, why do these… demon people want Sam?"

The man blinked, "Well, first off, they ain't people. Demons are far more powerful than any man an' as far as I know there's no sure way to kill 'em. Secondly, I don't know why they've taken a likin' to Sam… I only know they're around here 'cause I saw major electrical storms and other such demon omens on the news. After some research I figured they were centering in on that mental hospital o' yours and yer brother."

"How do you know there are…demons after Sam," I asked. How did this guy know they were specifically after Sammy? There were other patients in Alexander's as well as the staff, how did he know the demons weren't after any of them

"A little bird told me," he answered sarcastically. What did that mean? Did he have some sort of informant?

"Wait a sec: are you with the FBI?" I wanted to know. If he was a Fed that would explain why he knew a lot about me and Sam.

"Sometimes," he grinned but then turned serious again.

"I dunno about you but I've had enough of this small talk," the man said, "I'd suggest we get to the hospital before the demons do."

I looked at the man, trying to tell if he was lying or not. I didn't think he was.

"Okay, just let me grab some things first," I said, not even sure why I was listening to this guy. Something told me he was telling the truth or at least part of it anyway. He didn't have any weapons I could see and if he was gonna try something he would have done it already.

I moved around my house, while the man stayed in the living room. He didn't follow as I made my way upstairs, grabbing my badge, gun, ammo, a duffel bag…

"I'd make sure t'bring yer toothbrush an' a few changes of clothes if I were you," the man called up the stairs.

I paused, standing in the hallway, "Why? I'm gonna bring Sam here." My home was the safest place I knew, I'd make sure nothing happened to my brother here.

"If the demons know where Sam is they'll know where ya live," the man commented.

"Where can we go?" I asked.

"My place," the man said.

I didn't answer but went back into my room and grabbed some clothes, stuffing them in the duffel bag. I moved to the study I used as a guest bedroom the few times Sam had been well enough to stay with me and took some of his clothes from the drawers.

I stomped down the stairs and the man looked at me expectantly.

"I forgot to ask," I muttered as we stepped outside into the darkening evening, "Who are you?"

The man chuckled, "Robert Singer but ya'll can call me Bobby."

I was about to turn in the direction of my car when Bobby snorted, "We're taking mine."

"My car works fine!" I exclaimed.

"I'm not doubting that it don't, I'm sure if there's been demons watching you they'll certainly know what car you drive," Bobby explained, "It's always about being inconspicuous."

We walked down the street a ways and Bobby stopped at a royal blue 1953 Oldsmobile.

"That's inconspicuous?" I asked, rhetorically.

Bobby shrugged and chuckled, "It gets me from A to B."

"I am not driving to Alexander's in that," I protested.

"Shut up an' get in the car," Bobby ordered, opened the driver's side door and slid inside the black-leather upholstered interior.

I did as I was told, sitting down on the passenger's side, duffel bag on my lap.

"It's gonna take about a twenty minutes to get to the hospital-" I began but Bobby started the car which issued a low rumbling cough and pulled out of the driveway.

"That's because you drive like a cop," Bobby grinned and sped down the street, doing fifty over the speed limit.

As we drove in silence I took the time to get a better look at Bobby- he was wearing a pair of old blue jeans, scuffed brown work boots, a plaid shirt and stained brown vest, he had a grimy baseball cap on his head. He had a reddish beard and hair, grey eyes, his face deeply lined from a hard life and I could tell that he had once been someone quick to smile.

We didn't speak at all as we drove. I didn't even give directions since Bobby seemed to know exactly where he was going.

Bobby swerved into the Visitor's Parking- stopping the Oldsmobile on an angle to take up two spaces in the empty lot. I checked my wrist-watch: it was just after seven thirty. There would only be a few nurses on duty now, the rest gone home for the night and the patients all in their rooms.

Bobby got out of the car first and looked around, "We ain't gonna use the front door, Dean. Is there an employee entrance anywhere?"

"Uh," I paused, I had never seen one before but there could be one, "Maybe around back."

The older man nodded and we headed toward the back of the building. Bobby tapped my shoulder and pointed to a small utility door. I gave him the thumbs up and followed him toward the door. It was unlocked and we ducked inside. It led to a narrow, dark hallway.

Bobby paused to pull something from the pocket of his vest- a silver flask.

"I'm not really in the mood for a pick-me-up right now but be my guest," I whispered and Bobby shot me an annoyed look.

"It's holy water," he explained and pressed the flask into my hands, "Splash it on anyone who comes after you."

"What?" I asked but Bobby was already moving down the hall, holding another flask that I doubt had alcohol in it.

I followed Bobby down the hall, surprised at how silent his footsteps were- nearly imperceptible in fact- guy must have had some serious police or military training to be able to be that quiet.

We made our way up one of the hallways and I could hear the faint clicking of computer keyboards- we were nearing the nurses' station.

I motioned to Bobby to let me go first and I began walking casually. Isabelle looked up, shocked to see me.

"Dean, what are you doing here?" she asked, "Its way past visiting hours, don't you know?"

I showed her my badge I'd fished out of the duffel bag that I had brought with me.

Isabelle opened her mouth and I put a finger to my lips and she nodded, remaining silent but watched as Bobby and I made our way down the hall toward Sam's room.

We reached the door and I swiped the key-card, the green light flashing to grant us access.

The room was dark when I opened the door, the only illumination coming from the fluorescent lights in the hall.

Bobby kept the door ajar but stood outside, on guard and on edge. I crept close to the bed- I could make out my brother's sleeping form beneath the covers.

I reached out and gripped his shoulder, shaking gently.

"Hey, Sammy," I whispered loudly and I saw one eye open.

"D'n?" Sam asked, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hey, what'd ya say we get outta here?" I asked. Sam closed his eye and seemed ready to go back to sleep.

"Sam," I shook his shoulder again.

"Hmm?" was the response I got.

"C'mon, we're getting you out of here," I tightened my grip on Sam's shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. He flopped back against the bed once I released him.

What's was going on? Sam was never a heavy sleeper and he certainly wouldn't be acting like this.

"Bobby!" I called to the older man.

"What?" he whispered from the doorway.

"I can't get him to wake up," I explained, pulling Sam up again.

There was a pause, "Could be the meds the doctor's giving him."

"Or?" I sensed that was not all he had to say.

"Or the demons are already here and they drugged him," I didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Okay Sam, we're getting you the heck out of this place whether you're conscious or not," I muttered at my brother and pawed around in the duffel bag before pulling out a pair of my brother's old jeans and a large, black hoodie.

I pulled the hooded sweater over my brother's head, slipped his arms through the sleeves and tugged it down to his waist with only a little difficulty. Next I tried shaking his shoulder again.

"Sam, c'mon man, look at this, I'm dressing you like you're a little kid," I muttered, hoping that he'd hear and be embarrassed enough to put his own jeans on.

No such luck.

"This is as awkward for me as it is for you, trust me," I assured him as I managed to get Sam's jeans on him- both hoodie and pants covering the hospital clothes I didn't bother with.

At least he won't be cold, I thought and saw Sam's eyes flicker open.

"What're you doin'?" he asked sleepily.

"Nice timing, Rip Van Winkle," I muttered just as I was pulling Sam's jeans up to his hips.

"What's taking you so long, boy?" I heard Bobby hiss.

"Gimme one more minute," I asked.

"Do you think you can stay with me long enough to get out of here?" I asked Sam who was now struggling to sit up.

Sam shook his head as if to clear it and blinked at me blearily. I scooped up the duffel, paused for a moment to swipe Sam's notebooks into it and held out an arm to my brother. He stood uneasily, his knees shaking and he looked about ready to collapse but he allowed me to support him with my arm.

We shuffled out of the room at a snail's pace but at least we were moving. I was happy that, for now at least, Sam was moving under his own power and Bobby and I didn't have to carry him out.

We headed down the hallway toward the utility door- I noticed that the nurses' station was now deserted- and Bobby seemed on high alert, hand poised to douse any, uh, demons with holy water.

The building was eerily quiet and I half expected a monster or something to pop out of one of the rooms.

Nobody stopped us and nothing attacked us, which I wasn't sure was a good thing. Bobby didn't relax for a second though, even when we reached the Oldsmobile and I got Sam to lie down in the back seat. His eyes were already drifting closed again as he looked up at me from the cool leather seat.

The old man and I got into the front and Bobby turned on the engine.

"So if I can't go home… can we go to our Dad's place?" I asked as Bobby sped out of the driveway.

The older man grimaced, "If you do that you'll only put 'im in danger. Like I said before, yer coming with me."

I sighed and settled into the seat, "Where do you live, anyway?"

"Sioux Falls," Bobby answered with a wry grin.

"Sioux Falls! But that's in South Dakota! States away!" I exclaimed.

"Ayuh, an' it's one of the safest places on Earth if yer running from anything supernatural," Bobby confirmed.

I groaned, the trip itself would take at least two or three days. What was I going to say to the Captain? To Dad? To Dr. Calhoun once she realized Sam was gone?

W

We drove throughout the night, nonstop but I didn't really care, the sooner we got to Sioux Falls the better. I was worried about Sam; he appeared to be sleeping peacefully even if it was a drug-induced slumber.

"You don't think whatever drug the demons gave Sam is permanent do you?" I asked just as we crossed the border into Pennsylvania.

"Nah, it's more likely they drugged 'im so he'd go with them quietly," Bobby said.

"That's really comforting, you know?" I said sarcastically.

"It ain't meant to be comforting, ya idjit!" Bobby practically growled at me.

I didn't know what to say so I didn't reply. I turned so I could see my brother: his eyes were closed and he actually looked small in the big sweater I'd dressed him in- that's just because he's kind of thin, I thought- and I just hoped he wake up soon.

W

Sam woke up just as we were entering the city limits of Pittsburg- about mid-morning. I heard a groan from the backseat and I turned to see Sam blinking owlishly and rubbing a hand over his face.

"Thought you were going to sleep forever," I said lightly.

"Wha-?" Sam began, "Where are we?"

"It's okay Sammy, you're safe," I assured him.

Sam looked puzzled and pulled himself into a sitting position. He looked a little green around the gills but he didn't seem any worse for wear.

"How're you feeling?" I asked, anxiously.

"My head's spinning," Sam groaned and closed his eyes though he didn't lie down.

"Sam?" I asked but my brother didn't answer and decided that maybe it'd be best to explain everything to him once we stopped.

I stared at Bobby. I was worried about my brother. He was, after all, mentally ill and I wasn't sure how we'd get him the medications he'd need. Hell, I didn't even know what medications he needed.

We drove the rest of the day and late into the night. We passed through Columbus, Ohio; headed out toward Indianapolis, Indiana; Chicago and Rockford, Illinois; began slowing down once we had Sioux City in our sights: we were on the home-stretch.

All in all it took us a day and a half- record time, Bobby announced- to get to Sioux Falls. Sam slept most of the time; the drugs the doctor had been prescribing made him lethargic. Earlier my Dad had phoned and it wasn't a good conversation:

"Dean, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Dad asked angrily when I answered.

"What are you talking about?" I played innocent.

"Don't take that smart-ass tone with me Dean Winchester, you know what's going on," Dad said.

"Oh, so now you're interested in Sammy's wellbeing," I said sarcastically.

"Don't do this Dean," Dad almost pleaded.

"Do what? Sam needed to get away from Alexander's. They weren't helping him there," I explained.

"He needs to be institutionalized, Dean, he's sick," Dad said.

"Uh huh," I answered, mimicking the way he would shut down when I tried to talk about Sam with him.

"You're just afraid you'll be stuck looking after him," I accused.

"That's not true, I want what's best for Sam," Dad argued.

"Don't start pretending to care now Dad, it's a little too late for that," I scoffed.

"Look, I have to go but I will call you later," I said, "Goodbye."

I hung up the phone and sighed.

"That'll keep him pacified?" Bobby asked.

"It should for a while. I'll have to have a nice, long conversation with him when I get back," I muttered and stared out the window.

I wonder when Jimmy's going to call, I mused, or Captain Baggot for that matter.

W

I whistled, impressed, as Bobby drove the Oldsmobile through the open chain-link surrounding his home and place of work- Singer Salvage.

Bobby chuckled, "It ain't much but it puts money in my wallet… an' I get to make my own hours."

The older man winked and I thought about how sporadic my own shifts could be at times.

"Can't say anything against that," I agreed and got out of the car once we had parked.

I opened the rear door and helped Sam out; he was still a little woozy and gripped my arm tightly as I assisted him.

A large white and brown pit bull came over to us, tail wagging and nose snuffling at our feet. Sam tensed in my grasp.

"It's okay, Sammy," I said encouragingly as I sidled around the dog, keeping my own body between the animal and my brother.

"Ah, don't mind Conan, he ain't much of a guard dog… more like a big softie," Bobby called out from his position on the porch.

I led Sam up the wooden steps and glanced quickly at the house- it was large and looked as if Bobby or perhaps a previous owner had put on additions over time that didn't quite match the building style- the main part was weathered grey clapboard but I also saw a stone and mortar addition and aluminum siding.

The interior of the house displayed a kind of organized chaos. There was a small kitchen to the right and a large study/living room that took up the rest of the main floor. There was a staircase that led to the second floor and a door just beside that which I assumed led to the basement or cellar.

Bobby gestured in a slightly awkward manner to the living room, "Make yerselves comfortable."

I sat Sam down on Bobby's ancient, brown, beige and black striped couch and took a seat in an equally old brown armchair.

I looked around the room- there was a monster of a desk sitting in one corner and bookshelves took up all available space along the walls. I looked at the spines of the books displayed. Many looked really, really old, leather-bound and gold-leafed as though they belonged in the personal library of the King of France or something.

The floor was scuffed hardwood covered with a raggedy area rug. I saw something poking out from under the rug and I knelt down to see what it was a symbol of some sort of circle carved into the floor. It kind of looked like a pentagram or something like that but more sophisticated.

I heard Bobby come into the room. He was holding a tray with three cups and a teapot on it.

"See you've found my Devil's Trap," Bobby said pleasantly. I replaced the rug and took my seat sheepishly.

"What's a Devil's Trap?" Sam spoke up and I saw him watching Bobby with shining eyes.

I hadn't filled Sam in on the whole demon thing- if it was even real- and I wasn't sure if he'd heard anything while Bobby and I had talked on the long ride out here. The old man hadn't said much, claiming he wanted to get to the safety of his salvage yard before he would discuss the subject in more detail.

"It's one o' the most powerful ways to capture demons," Bobby explained. He had already told me that although there was no known way of killing them; demons could be confined and exorcised, sent back to Hell.

I still wasn't a hundred percent sold on this demon thing- I'm a guy who's got to see it to believe it.

"Look," I began, "Thanks for… doing whatever it was you did back there at Alexander's but you don't really expect me to believe all this demon crap, do you?"

Bobby said nothing for a few moments. He poured some tea into a mug and handed it to me- I accepted since I was already rude enough to question the man's motives for breaking Sam out of the hospital.

"I've told ya before, I don't care if you think I'm cracked or not," Bobby said, "I'm just trying to protect yer brother. That's what I do: protect people."

"But demons? Really? And you still haven't told me why they're after Sam," I gulped down some tea, herbal stuff, chamomile like what Mom used to drink.

"You don't know because I don't know," Bobby offered Sam some tea and my brother accepted. No doubt it was better than whatever the hospital served.

I sighed, "But I've never even met a demon before… and I certainly wouldn't have told them about Sam."

Bobby burst out laughing like what I'd just said was the joke of the century.

"Maybe you did meet one, but you'd never know it unless they wanted ya to," he said and his mouth pulled down into a grim line.

"Oh," I muttered and stared down at the yellow-brown tea in my cup.

"How can you… tell if it's a demon?" I heard Sam ask.

I glanced up at Bobby. C'mon man, he already has enough problems as it is, there's no need to add more fuel to the fire.

Bobby decided to pour gasoline all over the place instead, "Sometime's you'll see their eyes change. A regular demon's got black eyes and Crossroads demons often have red… then again, you might not know they're a demon at all until they've killed ya."

"Great," I said sarcastically and took a healthy gulp of tea.

"But strange behavior can indicate a demon as well," he said, "They may act out o' the ordinary, subtly, but if you know the person they possess you may be able to catch on."

I just stared at Bobby in disbelief. This guy's crazier than Sam, I thought. We needed to leave. Soon.

I nodded as though I fully understood the guy and finished my tea off quickly. I was grateful for (possibly) rescuing Sam from a dangerous situation, whatever that may have been but I knew we could not stay with Bobby.

"Hey, can I use your shower?" I asked.

"Sure, it's just upstairs and to the right," Bobby said amiably.

I grabbed some of my clothes from the duffel bag and headed upstairs. Wondering why I was leaving Sam alone with a practical stranger, miles away from home or help.

Although I didn't want to believe Bobby, a tiny voice said that maybe, just maybe he wasn't outright lying either.

W

I came down the stairs about ten minutes later to find Sam sketching in one of his notebooks while Bobby was in the kitchen, making dinner.

The older man turned when he heard me approach and I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Look, if you don't believe me, I can live with that… all I want is to keep you and yer brother safe," Bobby said and I only saw honesty in his weathered features.

I sighed and ran a hand through my damp hair, "It's just that… God, after everything we've been through… with Sam's illness… we just want everything to be normal."

"I know, boy," Bobby said sympathetically.

"How did you figure out demons exist?" I asked.

"Oh, my wife, Karen, she… she got possessed," Bobby muttered softly, the loss of his spouse obviously still fresh.

"I'm sorry," I said. It was the only thing I could think of, the words I had been trained to speak to the families of victims.

"Don't be," Bobby said, "It was a long time ago."

I couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. I didn't think he was a bad guy, not really; eccentric maybe, lonely, but not dangerous.

I didn't know what to do, we could not stay here much longer, I had work and Sam would need to get back to Alexander's.

"You know I'm a cop right? You know I'm not just some Joe Shmoe off the street," I said to Bobby as he cut up potatoes to fry.

The old man nodded, "I know but I also know ya wouldn't last two minutes against a demon without at least some knowledge of them."

I took a seat on one of kitchen chairs, pulling it out from the table so I could look out the doorway and into the living room to keep an eye on Sam.

"What do I need to know?" I asked the older man. If demons really did exist and they were gunning for my brother I would do everything in my power to protect Sam. But, I thought, I'm not going to go into this half-assed. I would trade my 'Protective Brother' mask for my 'Officer Winchester' mask- treat this like I would any other case of criminal activity, do things the way I had learned back in college.

Bobby paused, holding a partially peeled potato and looked at me.

"You really want to do this?" he asked, sounding both excited that I was willing to listen to him and uneasy as though I wanted to pretend I was interested just for shits and giggles.

I nodded, "Tell me what to do."

For the next half hour Bobby told me everything he knew about demons: where they came from, how to identify them, how to stop them.

"Sam could draw those traps," I suggested.

Bobby nodded, "I can tell he really has talent."

"Yeah, his doctor said it would be therapeutic for him," I explained, "He always liked to draw, even as a kid and the staff at the hospital get him all the notebooks and pens he wants."

Thinking of it I stepped into the living room and took three of the topmost notebooks from the duffel bag. Sam was usually very protective of the books and didn't let any of the nurses touch them but he always let me flip through the pages if I wanted.

I went back into the kitchen and showed Bobby some of Sam's work. None of the sketches were dated or anything, the subjects had no names but I could see that most of them were Alexander's staff members or patients.

Bobby made an appreciative sound.

"Not all of them are like this, some are… darker," I told him, "Especially if Sam's meds aren't working."

Both the older man and I looked toward Sam meticulously sketching with a pencil as he sat ramrod straight on the couch.

I looked through the other two notebooks until I found what I was looking for. I grimaced at the picture. It was a common one, actually, its subject drawn over and over again.

Jessica Moore was rendered on the creamy white paper in black felt tipped pen. Flames surrounded the girl, her skin blackened and blistered, tears streamed down her face and her mouth was twisted in a silent scream.

Bobby glanced at the drawing and then looked at Sam. The older man raised an eyebrow.

"Sammy just managed to escape the fire," I said, "It was too late to save Jess, though."

I closed the notebook and set it on the table. Bobby's eyes were glazed in sympathy.

"Poor kid," he muttered and I nodded.

I sighed and stood. Speaking of, Sam should probably take a shower too. It would make him feel better.

I left Bobby in the kitchen to finish the dinner preparations and headed into the living room and sat down beside Sam. I looked over to see what he was drawing and I saw Bobby's face staring up at me from the notebook's pace, expertly sketched and shaded with pencil, he even had a baseball cap on.

I chuckled, "How about a nice, hot shower Sammy?"

Sam looked up, his expression of one who had just won a billion dollar jackpot, "Sure."

I grabbed some of Sam's clothes from the duffel bag and we headed upstairs. I sat in the hallway just outside the bathroom while my brother showered.

After about ten minutes Sam stepped out of the bathroom dressed in fresh jeans, socks and a long-sleeved navy blue shirt.

"Feel better?" I asked as I stood.

"Yeah," Sam said and smiled. I think he liked just being away from Alexander's.

"C'mon, Bobby's making dinner," I said and we walked downstairs.

"Dean," Sam asked quietly as we reached the main floor.

"Yeah, Sammy?" I looked at him. He had a sheepish expression on his face.

"Do you think that, maybe, when we go back to Utica, I could stay with you for a little while?" Sam asked, his gaze cast downward as he tugged his sleeves nervously.

I really wanted Sam to be alright. I wanted him to be healthy and not have to worry about getting sick again but I wasn't sure if that was going to happen right now. Sam might be feeling fine at the moment but I didn't have his meds on hand and I didn't know what would happen when the effects wore off. I was planning on getting back home before that happened and, although I felt terrible about it, Sam would be back in Alexander's.

"We'll see, okay?" I said, not making any promises so I wouldn't have to break them.

It had to be one of the most unusual dinners I had been to in a long time. Bobby had cooked up fried steak and potatoes. He found a two litre bottle of Coca-Cola and poured its contents into cups- I would have preferred beer but I wasn't keen on Sam having alcohol so I drank the pop without complaint.

None of us spoke. I didn't really know what to say and it seemed neither did the older man. Sam, who is not a chatterbox anyway, ate his dinner silently.

I watched my brother carefully out of the corner of my eye as he sliced up his food with a steak knife, not that I thought he would try anything, but still the fear was there.

Tomorrow morning we'll go back to Utica.

That night, when Bobby was asleep in his room and Sam and I were in the guest room- Sam got the bed and I just curled up on a chair in the corner- I phoned my partner.

"Jimmy," I hissed into the receiver. I didn't want Sammy waking up.

"Dean? Where are you? What are you doing?" he asked sleepily, "It's after midnight."

"I know. Sorry. Look, I need you to do me a favour, okay?" I asked.

"No," he grumbled and I heard Amelia mutter something, probably asking who was calling in the dead of night.

"Pretty please? With a cherry on top?" I begged.

"Will you let me sleep if I say yes?" he asked.

"Maybe," I grinned.

I heard Jimmy sigh and shift as he sat up.

"What is it?" he muttered.

"I need you to look someone up for me," I asked.

"Can't you do that?" Jimmy asked, "Some of us have to go into work at five a.m."

"I'm not near a computer right now," I grumbled, "Now shut up and listen, will ya?"

"Fine," Jimmy sighed.

"I need you to look up a Bobby Singer from Sioux Falls, South Dakota," I instructed.

"Singer?" Jimmy asked.

"Yeah," I confirmed, "owns Singer Salvage and had a wife named Karen, she's deceased now… I don't know her maiden name."

"Why do you want to know about this guy?" my partner asked.

"Just curious," I lied.

"Are you coming back soon? The Captain was livid when you didn't show up for work," Jimmy asked.

"I'm heading back tomorrow," I said.

"Okay," Jimmy said, "Just don't be surprised if the Captain's promotion offer's fallen through."

I shrugged, "Fine by me. I get to spend more time with you."

Jimmy chuckled, "Good night, Dean."

"See you later, Jim," I muttered and closed my cell phone.

Sam was sleeping peacefully. I was kind of surprised, actually, and thought that maybe he was getting better. Maybe he didn't need all those anti-psychosis meds at all.

I closed my eyes and allowed my breathing to become slower and slower. If Sam woke up I'd hear him- my Spidey-Sense ready to warn me of any movement from my brother.

W

I woke up first. Sam was still fast asleep. He looked content, his brow smooth and a noticeable smile on his lips.

My heart wrenched at the thought of taking him back to Alexander's but I knew I couldn't really trust that Sam had miraculous recovered from his illness just because he was no longer in the hospital.

I headed downstairs, following the scent of coffee into the kitchen to find Bobby already up and looking over one of his old books.

"Hi," I said and Bobby grabbed me a cup of coffee.

"Sleep well?" the older man asked.

I sipped the hot drink and nodded, "yeah."

"How's Sam?" he asked.

"Good, he's sleeping like a log, actually," I answered.

"That's good to hear," the man answered.

"Bobby, you know we have to leave today, right?" I ventured.

"I know Dean," he nodded, "Knew you wouldn't be stayin' long."

"Just let me get ya some things so's you'll be prepared if you do git into trouble," he offered.

"Thanks," I answered sincerely, "for everything."


	2. Night Side

Horror stalks the dark night  
Keeps the world from our sight  
We can't see all of the silent ones coming  
To take the ultimate bite

No lucky charm will suffice  
To keep the monsters at bay  
No clove of garlic or crucifix ever  
Kept the vampires away  
-'Night Side' by Motorhead

Bobby gave me a gallon jug full of holy water, rock salt for shells, and a couple of small iron medallions he said would ward against possession.

"Just keep 'em in a pocket or in the bottom of a shoe," he explained. They were easily small enough to not be noticeable, which was good in Sam's case since the hospital staff had strict rules about foreign objects on the premises.

The night before we had gotten Sam to practice drawing Devil's Traps- not that he needed much practice- and he could sketch them out lightning-quick if need be.

"They won't be of much use if yer on the run but you could paint or draw one in yer house- under a rug or on the ceiling, somewhere a demon won't look… and you've got to make sure the trap stays unbroken 'cause if it smudges just a bit yer screwed," Bobby had told us. I didn't know exactly where I would put one but that wasn't my first concern.

Bobby even leant me a thick book bound in old brown leather. It was handwritten in a flowing hand that suggested the book had been made in the fifteenth or sixteenth century.

"Guard this with your life," Bobby instructed.

"It's all in Latin," I said after trying to interpret the words.

"Ayuh, it's all exorcisms," he said, "You'd do best to memorize some of 'em."

"Memorize? I can barely read them!" I exclaimed.

"Then get yer brother to," Bobby said, "He looks smart enough."

I opened my mouth to snap a smart remark when Sam came downstairs.

"Hey Sammy," I said and immediately acted natural, like I hadn't been about to bite Bobby's head off for insulting me.

"Do we have to go?" Sam asked and fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them down lower.

"Yeah, buddy. I have work and Dad's worried about you," I said. I wasn't going to say 'and you need to go back to the hospital' like I wanted him there or something.

Sam sighed and looked at Bobby with those puppy-eyes he did so well.

"It was good meetin' ya, the both of ya," Bobby said.

"Thanks Bobby," Sam muttered, suddenly shy.

"Yer stayin' for breakfast?" Bobby asked.

"Sorry, but we have a long ride ahead of us," I protested.

Bobby shrugged and led us out to the salvage yard- he was going to lend me a car so I could drive home on my own.

"Here ya go," the older man said and waved a hand ceremoniously at a 1967 Chevy Impala.

The car had a shiny black hide and black leather interior.

I whistled, "For me? And it's not even my birthday."

"Be careful with her," Bobby warned, "I spent a year rebuilding her after she tangled with an eighteen wheeler."

The older man tossed me the keys and I unlocked the doors and slid into the driver's seat. I turned on the engine and heard a low, deep growl. I closed my eyes as I listened to her purr.

Now I'll admit that I'm not much of a car guy, sure I like them as much as the next man, but when you're a cop your baby is your Dodge Charger. But this car, I don't know how to explain it, she was something special.

Bobby tapped on the window and I unrolled it. He didn't say anything, just passed a slip of paper to me. I unfolded the scrap and saw a phone number scrawled on it.

"Thanks, Bobby," I muttered and put the paper in my pocket.

Once Sam was sitting comfortably in the passenger's seat I maneuvered the Impala out of the salvage yard and onto the main dirt road that would lead further into South Dakota or toward the east and home.

My brother was very quiet. He stared out the passenger window and didn't say a word.

I sighed, "I'm sorry Sam, I really am."

"I know you are Dean," Sam muttered.

"Look, when we get back to Utica, I'll make it up to you," I promised.

"Sure," Sam said and continued to stare at the scenery fly by.

I didn't know what was wrong with him. Of course we had to go back home. We couldn't just stay with Bobby Singer forever. We didn't even know the guy that well. There was no way I was hanging over at the house of a practical stranger because he was worried about demons. I mean, I was a cop, I could handle it. Besides, the old man had given us tips and weapons to fight them off.

I felt myself grow momentarily angry with Sam. He didn't understand- I had a job, I needed to get back to the station.

The nurses and Dr. Calhoun would be worried about Sam if he were gone for much longer. I couldn't do that to them. Dad was probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown because his mentally ill son was out in the big, wide, world full of unsuspecting people.

Sam may not have wanted to go back to Alexander's but I wasn't sure he was well enough to live with me or Dad. He had to get better, he just had to.

W

Night fell early but I didn't stop driving. I was on a time limit- I wanted to get back home now. Sam was asleep with his head resting against the window. I glanced over at him and frowned. I took in his dark, a little-too-long hair, his closed eyes looked bruised, his narrow face made even more so by the meds.

He was wearing that large, black hoodie I had dressed him in when Bobby and I had kidnapped him from the hospital. It wasn't even Sam's sweater, it was mine but he still fit into it- he may have been tall but he seemed very small at that moment.

I couldn't help but wonder where we had gone wrong. I remembered Sam as a bright, happy, enthusiastic kid ready to take whatever the world threw at him.

Sam was still intelligent, genius-level smart I was sure but he was no longer happy or confident. He was withdrawn and shy and unbelievably passive at times.

He really was the black sheep of our family. Both Mom and Dad were outgoing and outspoken, and I was a people person, a police officer who knew how to talk to anyone.

Our Mom had been an only child; her parents had died in a car accident when she was nineteen- only months before she married Dad. That hadn't stop her though, Mom was determined and caring and bubbly. She'd always know how to get Sam or I to talk about whatever was bugging us.

Dad's parents still lived in Kansas; they were a dentist and a high school Home Economics teacher. Dad had two brothers, our Uncles William and Luke, and a ton of nieces and nephews. Some cousins I hadn't even met yet there were so many and we rarely made the trip down to Wichita. Dad could come off as rude but that was only because he spoke his mind and was very opinionated.

Sam, well, he was the quiet one, often getting forgotten at loud family reunions or Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner.

I decided the silence in the car was too much and I turned on the radio. Black Sabbath's 'Turn Up The Night' came blaring from the speakers. I lowered the volume but didn't change the song.

I reached out and ruffled my brother's hair, a gesture I was rarely allowed- he could become very nervous about physical contact.

Sam didn't wake and I just continued driving. It was going to be a long night.

We hadn't seen any other cars on the road and I was a little surprised when a pair of headlights came barreling toward us.

I slowed the Impala down, thinking Speedy Gonzales wanted to pass us but the asshole stayed right behind, high beams on and his fender almost touching our bumper.

I sped up a little bit but the car just pulled up so that they were right behind us again.

C'mon you dick, get off my ass, I thought angrily and tried to accelerate again.

I jerked forward in my seat as Speedy's car nudged the Impala's back end.

I glanced in the rearview mirror but saw only bright headlights, the outline of a dark SUV and tinted windows.

Sam woke up, blinking at me and looking confused, "What's happening?"

"It's okay Sammy," I grunted as I switched lanes only to have the SUV follow suit.

My brother could sense the tension in the car though and looked at me with round, frightened eyes.

"Dean?"

"Hold on," I growled and let out a cry when the SUV hit us again.

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled as the larger car now seemed intent on pushing us down the road. The back bumper was actually lifted up off the ground by the SUV's fender.

I tried to accelerate to get away from this guy but all I was doing was spinning the rear tires- I could hear the squeak of rubber against the SUV's metal fender.

I didn't know what to do. This guy had a major case of road rage and now we were at his mercy. I didn't even know what had pissed this asshole off so much, I had tried to let him pass but apparently he wanted to be the only car on the road.

"D-Dean," Sam stuttered.

"What?!" I snapped, glaring at him as though this was his fault.

Sam didn't answer but pointed at something out the front window. I could see metal guardrails at the edges of the road, indicating a drop-off into a ravine. A ravine we were now being pushed toward.

"Fuck!" I shouted and quickly decided I'd rather get road rash than fall down a cliff. I scrambled with my seatbelt, trying to stop my hands shaking enough to unbuckle myself.

"We've gotta jump out," I instructed breathlessly as the SUV sped up.

My heart leaped into my throat as the front of the Impala hit the guardrail and broke through it, metal shrieked and sparks flew as the SUV continued to push us. It was too late to jump from the vehicle so I grabbed hold of Sam's arm.

The Impala jolted as it began sliding down the ravine, skidding over boulders and smashing into small trees.

I cried out when the Impala rolled onto its back and continued the decent down the ravine. Now it smashed into larger trees. The snap and crack of wooden limbs and the scream of metal drowned out any noise Sam and I made.

I just had time to see the big pine tree appear in our headlights before I instinctively closed my eyes and felt the impact as the Impala slammed into it…

W

Beep, beep, beep…

What was that sound? I was trying to sleep and that damn beeping was not helping at all.

I blearily opened my eyes and was greeted by fluorescent lights in a ceiling of off-white fiberglass tiles.

Where the hell was I?

I struggled to sit up and found that my left arm was in a sling. I cursed as I managed to sit up halfway in bed and saw that the beeping noise was coming from a monitor of some kind sitting beside the bed.

Wait! A monitor? A sling? I was in a hospital!

I was just about to swing my legs out from under the covers when a nurse popped her head into the room.

"Oh good, you're awake. How do you feel?" she asked and came to stand at the side of the bed. She was an older woman, maybe in her forties, with graying blonde hair and light grey eyes.

My wrist in the sling throbbed in time with my heartbeat, my knee felt like someone had hit it with a hammer and my head ached but other than that I felt alright.

"Fine," I muttered and suddenly remembered what happened. The SUV, the ravine and Sammy. Oh no, I thought, was Sam alright?

"Where's the guy I came in with?" I asked and the nurse looked at me quizzically.

"I'm sorry sir, you must be mistaken, you were brought in alone," she said after reading my chart.

"No, that's not right. I had a brother, he was in the car with me," I explained, "He has to be here."

"I'm sorry sir but the paramedics only found you," the nurse confirmed.

If Sam wasn't in the hospital did that mean maybe he was…dead?

"Can you… can you check the morgue?" I asked.

"Sir, the paramedics only found you in the car," the nurse said in a stern yet kind voice.

"Okay," I said quietly.

The nurse gave me a sympathetic smile, "I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

Once the nurse was safely down the hall I grabbed the crutches leaning against the bed and moved over to the small closet. I opened the flimsy, ply board door and found my clothes. I dug around in my pockets for a moment before grabbing my cell phone and the slip of paper with Bobby Singer's number on it.

I shuffled back to the hospital bed and sat on the edge. I held the paper in one hand and the phone in the other, dialing the number slowly as I leaned my weight on the mattress.

The phone rang once and then Bobby picked up:

"Yeah?"

"Bobby? It's Dean Winchester. Something's really wrong. Sam's not here, Bobby! He's gone! The nurse said he didn't come in with me and what if he's hurt or lost or dead? I don't know what to do! We have to go back home. I need to go back to work and Sam's gotta go to the hospital-"

"Hold on for a minute, boy! Slow down. Take a deep breath and tell me what's goin' on," the older man instructed in a kindly voice and I did as he asked.

"We were driving home and some guy ran us off the road. I woke up in this hospital and Sam's not here," I said slowly although I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

"Where are you at?" Bobby asked.

"Uh," I hesitated, "I don't know."

"Well then find out," he said.

I looked around the room and saw an old Reader's Digest sitting on the nightstand by the bed. I reached over, picked it up and read the address.

"St. Augustine's," I answered.

"Hm, that's only a few miles outside of Sioux City," Bobby mused, "I can be there in a few hours. Hold on tight."

I thanked Bobby and closed my phone, sitting it and the paper on the bed covers.

The nurse returned, this time in the company of two county policemen.

"Is it alright if these two officers ask you about the accident, Mr. Winchester?" the nurse asked.

"Yeah," I muttered and she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I took a moment to scrutinize these brothers in arms. One had to be a rookie, fresh out of the Academy by the looks of him- all peach fuzz and round baby face and sparkling eyes. Eagerness showed so predominantly on his features he could have been drooling to have the chance to take on a case of reckless and dangerous driving.

The other cop was clearly a vet, although he was clean-shaven I saw his hair starting to grey at the temples and the expression in his eyes belied someone who had seen a lot in his years in law enforcement.

This old dog took the lead, introducing himself and then the rookie.

"I'm Officer Nuthatch and this is Officer Langley," he reached out and shook my hand.

I smiled, "Dean Winchester, Utica PD."

Officer Langley blinked as though surprised. Nuthatch just nodded. I didn't need them treating me like some emotionally distraught victim. I knew how this all worked.

"Do you remember anything about the accident, Mr. Winchester?" Officer Nuthatch asked.

"I was just driving down the road when this asshole came speeding toward me," I said and Langley nodded.

"What did you do?" Nuthatch continued.

"Thought the guy wanted to pass so I slowed down but he kept right with me," I said, "tried switching lanes but that didn't help either."

"Were you drinking?" Langley spoke up.

"No," I grumbled.

"Did the other driver become violent after your attempt to shake him?" Nuthatch continued.

"He bumped my car a couple of times and then he got his fender under my bumper and started pushing," I said.

"He pushed my car right through the guardrail and down the ravine," I finished.

"Can you describe the car that hit you?" Langley asked.

"Dark, big, like a SVU or something like that," I recalled.

"Did you get the license plate?" Langley asked, enthusiastically.

"I was a little busy getting shoved off a cliff to write down the number!" I snapped.

Nuthatch glared almost imperceptibly at Langley and then continued.

"When the paramedics arrived there was no one at the scene," he explained, "We're taking this down as a hit and run."

I nodded. Leaving the scene of an accident was a serious offence.

"Is there anything else you think may be helpful in catching this guy?" Nuthatch asked.

I shook my head.

"Wait! I had my brother with me but the paramedics didn't find him. I'm afraid he might be hurt and wandered off confused or was thrown out of the car," I said and grew nervous.

"We'll send out an APB right away," Nuthatch said.

I didn't even need to be asked, "His name's Sam. He's tall, like, 6' 4" and he's got green eyes and dark brown hair. He was wearing blue jeans, a dark blue long-sleeved shirt and a black hoodie."

I hesitated, "He's uh, he's got paranoid schizophrenia so if your guys do find him he may not want to come with you. He's not violent or anything; just… don't shoot or Taser him."

Nuthatch nodded solemnly and I glanced at Langley who had a strange expression on his face- rookie had probably only watched 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' or 'A Beautiful Mind' and that was the limit of his knowledge of schizophrenia or mental illnesses.

I gritted my teeth and wanted to punch Langley in the face.

"We'll contact you right away if we find any sign of your brother," Nuthatch said, "Let us know when you are discharged and you can assist in the search."

"Thank you, Officer," I smiled wanly. Normally the cops would not allow family members to help look for their relatives but maybe he was bending the rules because I was a fellow officer or because of Sam's illness it would be easier if I was there for him instead of a bunch of strangers.

Langley and Nuthatch left and I waited anxiously for Bobby to arrive.

W

The doctor appeared what seemed like hours later and explained my injuries. I had a sprained wrist, a good-sized goose egg on my forehead and my knee was badly bruised. Nothing that I couldn't recover from in a few days.

Bobby finally stomped into the room just shy of nine o'clock at night.

"How'd you get in here?" I asked.

"Got a friend who's useful in these situations," the older man answered.

"You've looked better," he commented as he helped me over to the closet.

"I've felt better too," I muttered and pulled the fabric divider so I could put my civilian clothes back on.

"I think we should go back to the site and look around," I said as I got dressed. I quickly explained what had happened and how my brother had simply disappeared from the accident.

"Ayuh," Bobby muttered, "You think Sam's just run off, do ya?

I paused, "and what do you think?"

"I told ya that demons were on yer tail," Bobby explained.

"Oh no," I said pulled my shirt down over my head.

"Yeah," Bobby said, "You'd think the cops would find 'im wanderin' around the ravine if he was still there, or laying somehwere's nearby if he got thrown."

I gulped. This felt so strange. Sam may have been taken by creatures I still did not fully believe in. I guess it didn't matter if I thought they existed or not, they were real and like it or not, they had inserted themselves into mine and my brother's life.

"Don't worry, Dean," Bobby encouraged, "You've got one of the best demon hunters around at yer disposal."

I shoved the divider back violently and grimaced, "Hunter?"

Bobby nodded, "that's kinda what we call ourselves… partly 'cause it's true and partly 'cause it confuses the heck outta laymen."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, "Hunter, eh? I guess that sounds pretty good. Better than the Ghostbusters, anyway."

Bobby chuckled at my attempt at humour- my heart wasn't really in it- and led me out into the hallway.

We walked down the silent corridor until we got to the nurses' station where a man wearing the clothes of a reverend leaned against the desk talking to the nurse on night duty.

The reverend straightened when he saw Bobby and I and smiled. He was maybe in his early fifties, with hair that I think must have been a sandy-colour but was now grey and silver, and a short-cropped beard that was going the way as his hair and kind, dark brown eyes.

"This is Pastor Jim Murphy," Bobby introduced us and the reverend shook my hand.

"Jim, this is Officer Dean Winchester," the hunter said the Pastor nodded.

"It's good to meet you, son," he said and I was surprised at his soft-spoken voice.

"Let's get outta here," Bobby said and I had no objections. I moved slower than the other men since I still had my crutches but they didn't rush.

We headed across the parking lot and I saw Bobby's familiar Oldsmobile. We had just about reached the car when another man poked his head out of one of the back windows and grumbled, "What's takin' you so long, Bobby?"

"Hold yer horses Rufus," the hunter growled back.

"You brought along the whole gang, did you?" I asked with a small smile.

"Ayuh, I don't play around when it comes to demons, Dean," Bobby answered and my smile faded.

"Let's just concentrate on getting to the police station and looking at your car," Pastor Jim spoke up.

"Sounds like a plan," Bobby said and we arrived at the car.

Bobby slipped into the driver's seat, the Pastor took shotgun and I awkwardly maneuvered onto the bench seat beside Rufus.

"Rufus Turner, Dean Winchester," Bobby said informally as he started the engine. Rufus looked to be younger than Bobby, but not by much, maybe they were even the same age, I don't know. He had close-cropped black hair and a graying moustache and beard- his dark eyes were shrewd and made me feel like a lowly amoeba under a microscope.

"Why you gotta bring him into this Bobby?" Rufus asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"I think his younger brother's been taken, Rufus," Bobby explained and pulled out of the parking spot and slowly moved out of the parking lot.

"You're gettin' soft, is what's happening," Rufus said, "Never involve family members directly, ain't that what I always tell ya?"

"He's a cop and I ain't getting' soft… I just don't think he's the type to sit back and let us do all the work," Bobby retorted in a sour voice.

"Uh, I'm sitting right here," I spoke up and both Bobby and Rufus glared at me for interrupting their argument.

I stopped talking and just listened to the two hunter argue about the pros and cons of having me with them.

I didn't even notice when Bobby rolled into the parking lot of a motel instead of the county police station.

"Uh, Bobby, aren't we going to check out the car?" I asked and peered out at the red and blue and red neon OPEN sign against the glass door of a place called 'Susie's'.

"We can't sleep in the car, Dean," Bobby answered as if I were an idiot.

"Sure, but-" I began but he cut me off.

"We'll go an' see the car in the morning," Bobby said, "no use going this late anyway."

"Okay," I said, a little dazed.

Bobby nodded and got out of the Oldsmobile, followed by Rufus, Pastor Jim and finally me.

The Pastor offered me a hand as I tried to get the crutches organized and keep weight off my knee.

Bobby headed toward the front desk; I heard a bell tinkle as he opened the door.

"How can you be sure Sam was… kidnapped by, uh, demons?" I asked Pastor Jim.

"We're not, but from what Bobby's told us it seems quite likely," he answered softly.

"I still don't understand what they'd want with Sammy," I muttered, mostly for myself.

"Demons exist to torment us, sometimes there doesn't have to be any reason. They just attack indiscriminately and are only concerned with causing as much damage as possible," the Pastor said.

I didn't say anything. I just hoped that Bobby was wrong and that Sam was alright.

Bobby exited the office and tossed a set of keys to the Pastor, keeping one set for himself.

We headed toward the rooms- they were right beside each other and we crowded into one of them so the three hunters could grill me on everything that had happened.

I eased myself onto one of the beds and looked around the room. The place was pretty cheap looking- the walls were covered in faux wood paneling, the floor was covered in a dark brown carpet, the beds had beige blankets, there was an old television atop a dresser that looked like it had seen better days and what could pass as a card table and two wooden chairs were stuffed into the last available space in the room.

Bobby and Rufus sat at the table, Pastor Jim stood, arms folded loosely.

"Let's start off with the crash first," Bobby said, "you'll remember it more clearly than anything else 'cause it happened most recently."

"I know how it works, Bobby," I grumbled but told him about the accident.

No one spoke while I recounted the events, didn't change their expressions.

"Did you regain consciousness at all after the crash? Before you got to the hospital?" Pastor Jim asked.

I tried to remember if I remembered anything from between hitting the pine tree and waking up in St. Augustine's.

I shook my head.

"The paramedics said they saw no one else at the crash site?" the Pastor continued.

"I didn't talk to them personally but that's what the nurse said," I answered, "apparently they thought I had been alone in the car."

The Pastor turned to Bobby, "You think the demons were watching them for a while, yes?"

Bobby nodded, "Saw all the signs hovering over Utica for a few weeks- nothing big or too worrisome, just a couple of electrical storms… took me a while to realize that it wasn't a normal occurrence and get my ass down there."

"Dean, were there any recent missing persons reported in Utica?" Pastor Jim asked.

I shook my head, "No, not even a run-away teenager."

"Could easily be someone from miles away?" Rufus muttered.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. I didn't like to be out of the loop.

"If demons were watching you or yer brother they'd wanna be someone close to you," Bobby explained, "Now, they could've possessed someone you already knew or they could've been using some poor sap from miles away."

"Do you remember seeing anyone new at the station? A new cop, maybe someone who'd said they'd been transferred?" Pastor Jim asked.

"No, and besides, Captain Baggot would have to see their paperwork and everything like that, you can't just walk in and announce that you're a transfer," I answered in a somewhat annoyed manner.

"Do you recall smelling sulfur at any time? It would smell like rotten eggs," Pastor Jim asked.

"No, most of the time I was out in the field and the only person with me was my partner," I explained.

"What's yer partner's name?" Bobby piped up.

"Jimmy Novak but I've known him for years," I said defensively, "I'd know if he was acting different."

"Maybe it was someone at the hospital? That would make sense if they were after Sam all along," Pastor Jim mused.

"Who does yer brother come into contact with on any given day?" Bobby asked.

"Uh, pretty much everyone who comes to Alexander's… the staff and the patients mostly though," I said.

"Which staff members have the most contact with Sam?" Bobby asked.

"The nurses and his doctor… and there's always an orderly around," I muttered.

"How many nurses are at the hospital?" Pastor Jim asked.

" Between ten and twenty," I guessed, "a lot."

"Do they always come and go or are there ones who have been there for years?" the Pastor continued.

"I've known most of them for as long as Sam's been there," I explained.

"D'you remember seein' anyone you didn't recognize? Anyone new to the hospital?" Bobby asked.

I thought back to the last couple of times I had visited Sam.

"There was this new patient; Sam said her name was Bernice or something," I said.

"Did anything stand out about her?" the Pastor pressed.

"She was staring at Sam… but he didn't seem to notice because he said she did that to everybody," I explained.

"It might be her," Rufus spoke up.

Bobby shook his head, "When we went to break Sam out he was pretty out of it, I think that the demon may have drugged 'im and I don't think a patient would have access to the medicine… even if they were a demon in disguise."

I suddenly remembered something about that woman, "She was praying on a Rosary. Would a demon do that?"

All three men shook their heads.

"They would not be able to say the words," Pastor Jim explained.

I slumped somewhat with relief.

"What about the nurses? They'd have access to all the patients an' no one would notice if they gave someone drugs… the patient probably wouldn't notice anything suspicious either," Rufus said and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at him for insulting Sam's powers of observation, even if what the hunter had said was true.

"There's always one nurse who looks after Sam," I said, "They're more like friends than anything… I think she's Sam's only friend in that place."

I thought about Jenny. She and Sam had an odd relationship. Although part of her job was to be professional, take her nursing seriously, Jenny always looked after Sam. The other nurses didn't mind and apparently neither did Dr. Calhoun who looked the other way when the young nurse was the one to bring my brother his meds and sit and talk to him for a couple of hours when she should have been elsewhere in the hospital. Dr. Calhoun must have believed it was good for Sam to have someone to talk to besides her or the other doctors and Jenny was always there for Sam when I couldn't be.

Jenny was a petite thing, she had been taking ballet classes since she could walk and she moved with a grace that would normally have men drooling. Me included. But I kept things low-key and didn't hit on her or anything, that would be awkward and I didn't want to ruin her relationship with Sam.

Jenny even came to see Sam on her off-time. Now that was real friendship. She really cared for my brother and sometimes I would arrive at the hospital and see the two of them sitting side by side on one of the benches in the courtyard- the small, skinny nurse with straight, light red hair and blue-green eyes and my tall brother, seemingly giant compared to Jenny with his slightly too-long dark brown hair and dark green eyes.

I frowned and shook my head, "It's not Jenny, it can't be her."

"It wouldn't be her fault, Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly, looking sad.

I practically glared at the man, "No! She'd never do something like that to Sam… she loves him."

Now all three hunters were looking at me with sympathetic expressions. I knew what they were thinking: Jenny had been possessed because she was always with Sam and it would only be too easy to drug him and kidnap him from the hospital.

I gulped. I didn't want to believe it.

"But Jenny wasn't even at work that day," I muttered.

"What!?" Bobby exclaimed.

My eyes widened at the realization.

"A new nurse was taking her shift… she said Jenny had called in sick," I said, excited now. Glad that it wasn't Jenny.

"What did this nurse look like?" Bobby leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"She had, uh, platinum blonde hair, like she'd dyed it and it was short and… dark brown eyes. I only met her for a couple of minutes," I explained.

"Did she give a name?" Bobby asked.

I shook my head, "And I didn't ask."

I didn't even recall the name on her staff ID card pinned to her scrubs.

"This is getting' us nowhere, Bobby. The boy don't know nuthin'" Rufus grumbled and glanced at me with an irritated expression.

"Hey, I'm sorry I'm not some fucking demon hunter like you! I'm sorry nobody told me that monsters even exist! I wish I had known about them 'cause then this wouldn't have happened... but it did and I am trying my best to find my brother! All I want is my brother back!" I shouted and stood.

Rufus looked a little less annoyed and Pastor Jim moved to put a hand on my shoulder but I shrugged it off and stormed out of the motel room.

I walked into the parking lot and stood under a burnt-out street light. I watched the cars zip by on the street across from the motel and sighed.

I heard footsteps behind me and felt a hand on my shoulder- this time I didn't move.

"We'll find your brother, Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly.

I felt tears well up in my eyes; something that rarely happened.

"I don't know what to do," I muttered, "I'm just lost here, you know? I can't use my connections because these demons can be anyone… I feel so useless."

The hand on my shoulder gave a comforting squeeze, "You are not useless, Dean. Thanks to you we know what the demon who took Sam looks like. It's likely it will stay in the same host until it is forced to leave."

"So all we have to do is look up missing girls that fit her description and we will have another piece of the puzzle," Pastor Jim said.

"Why Sam?" I asked for the nth time, "He's never hurt anybody."

"That's what we're trying to find out," Pastor Jim said and released his hold on my shoulder.

I looked at the Pastor hopefully and he gave me a reassuring smile.

We wandered back to the motel room. The three hunters decided that they would call it quits for the night and Bobby and Rufus left Pastor Jim and me alone, headed to their own room.

"You should try and get some sleep," Pastor Jim suggested.

"Yeah," I muttered but I knew I wouldn't get any sleep that night, probably wouldn't sleep at all until I knew Sam was safe and sound.

W

The next morning I was woken up when Pastor Jim entered the room, two paper cups in his hands and the strong scent of coffee wafting through the room.

"How long was I asleep for?" I muttered and stretched.

"Twenty minutes," the Pastor said and handed me a cup.

"Feels like it," I muttered and cracked my neck.

Pastor Jim sipped his own coffee, "You should really get some sleep, Dean. The best thing you can do for Sam right now is to make sure you are well rested."

I grunted and gulped down some coffee.

"Bleh," I made a face- the Pastor had added cream and sugar to mine.

Pastor Jim chuckled but said nothing.

"Do we have a game-plan for today?" I asked.

The Pastor nodded, "Bobby thinks we should check out the site first, see if there isn't any evidence that your brother didn't just wander off and then we'll go to the station and take a look at the car itself."

I nodded, "Good. My duffel bag was in the trunk and I need my extra clothes."

W

Half an hour later the three hunters and I were crammed in the Oldsmobile and on our way to the crash site.

Bobby was very quiet, his lips a thin line and his eyes checking the rearview mirror every few minutes.

"Ah don't know what you think you're gonna find, boy," Rufus told me.

"I just want to make sure my brother isn't out in the ravine somewhere, hurt or something," I muttered.

The older man just shook his head as though the idea of finding Sam had been thrown from the car and was laying unconscious meters away from the wreck site was absolutely ludicrous.

Bobby parked the car a few feet away from the site. I could see skid marks on the road from when the Impala had been pushed by the SUV. As we moved closer I saw the damaged guardrail- broken open and twisted outward, facing the open air where the ravine cliff started. Flakes of black paint marred the steel railing.

I walked over to the edge and peered down. I could track the descent of the Impala. Broken tree limbs still oozed clear sap and the tires had dug up the turf. From where the car had flipped I could see a larger swatch of damage as the roof ground grass and bushes into the dirt.

Bobby and Rufus were already beginning to pick their way carefully down to the bottom of the ravine.

Pastor Jim grabbed a hold of my arm and I didn't really mind. Although I didn't have the crutches with me- they were a pain in the ass- my bruised knee was still tender and my sprained wrist still held immobile in a sling.

The two of us made our way slowly toward Bobby and Rufus who were already staring at the large pine tree that had stopped the Impala's decent down the ravine- any farther and we would have landed upside down in the river.

The two hunters crouched down and surveyed the area.

"Paramedics were crawling all over the place, Bobby," Rufus muttered.

"Yup, and a few cops as well," the other hunter commented.

"Can you see if Sam left any tracks?" I asked hopefully.

Bobby shook his head, "It doesn't look like it, son."

"You can see where they got a fire truck to haul the car back up to the road," Rufus indicated the two separate sets of tire treads leading away from the scene and back up the ravine to end where asphalt started.

I wasn't going to give up on Sam. With the Pastor's assistance I moved a few meters away from the pine tree, scanning the low-lying bushes and leaf-litter for any sign that my brother had passed that way.

"Sam!" I called, "Sammy!"

I tried to see if I could find footprints in the soft earth or if there were signs he had rubbed up against the trees or bushes.

"Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly, "I don't think Sam is here."

I glared at the Pastor for a moment and then my gaze softened and turned sad and desperate.

"No, no," I said, "I can't believe it."

"I'm sorry Dean," the Pastor said and squeezed my shoulder.

"I…I didn't believe it… didn't want to believe it…" I muttered. I guess a part of me had been hoping that Bobby was lying or something, there just didn't seem to be any way demons could exist.

I felt my legs shake and Pastor Jim grabbed me under the arms before I could collapse to the ground.

"Bobby! Rufus!" the Pastor called and the two other hunters came running.

"What's happening?" Rufus asked, slightly out of breath.

"He's in denial," Pastor Jim told them as though he saw this kind of thing all the time.

"Where's Sam? Where is he?" I asked Bobby as though he would know.

"Shhh," Pastor Jim said, "Let's get you back to the motel."

The Pastor shared a look with the two other hunters and hauled me to my feet.

"D'you think you can make it back up the ravine?" Bobby asked and I nodded numbly.

Dean, you idiot; I scolded myself as I made my way slowly back up the slope of the ravine, supported by the Pastor and Bobby. This is not flattering; this isn't how you're supposed to act. You're a fucking cop and you start whining like a little bitch. C'mon! Think like a cop, man! If this was any other kidnapping case how would you act? You wouldn't sit there blubbering like a baby, would you? No, you'd get your head in the game and pay attention to the important things so you can bring the victim home safely. Think, man, think.

I straightened up a little and squared my shoulders once we stepped onto the road.

"We have to go take a look at the car," I said with authority and the hunters all gave me quizzical looks.

"If I'm bawling my eyes out in some motel bathroom than I'm not doing my job," I said and Bobby nodded.

"Bobby, you don't really wanna get him involved with 'you know what'?" Rufus asked.

"I know Sam better than anyone here," I protested.

"Yeah, but your kid brother's not just run off somewhere, he was kidnapped. By demons," Rufus argued.

"Now Rufus, we don't know that for sure-" Pastor Jim began but Rufus cut him off. I didn't think Jim was a stupid man; I think he just wasn't one to jump to conclusions- I mean, as far as we know, Sam could have been thrown from the car and landed in the river or something.

"Oh come off it, Jim, you heard what Bobby said: he's seen demon signs which means Dean's brother is on their hit-list and it's almost certain that some demon ran the boys off the road to get to Sam," Rufus said vehemently.

Pastor Jim didn't reply.

"I don't care who or what took Sammy, all I care about is getting him back, got it?" I glared at the three hunters. A difficult feat since two of them were still supporting me and the third had his back turned to me.

"You should care, boy, 'cause there's a big difference between your average, everyday crazy and a demon," Rufus grumbled.

"Now is not the time," Pastor Jim said in an authoritative voice.

"How's about we argue on our way to the station? Git in the car, all of ya," Bobby grumbled and we obediently got into the Oldsmobile.

W

At the station Officer Langley directed us to the evidence lock-up.

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester but we haven't found anyone who fits your brother's description yet," he said as we walked down the long, silent hallway.

I grunted but made no comment.

"You should probably fill out a Missing Persons report, you know, to make it official," Langley continued.

"Yeah, I'll remember to do that," I muttered.

"Well, here it is," Langley said as we stopped in front of a set of big double doors. The rookie took out a set of keys and unlocked the doors, pushing them inward.

"Let someone know when you're done and we'll come and lock 'er back up," the baby-faced cop said and walked back down the hall.

I shook my head, "rookies…" and stepped inside.

Rufus, Bobby and Pastor Jim all came in after me. Bobby found the switchbox and turned on the lights.

The evidence lock-up may have been big but it was rather empty.

"Not a lot happens here, I take it," I said and walked past row upon row of dust-covered, metal shelving, just waiting to be filled with crime paraphernalia.

"It's a small town, everyone probably knows everybody," Pastor Jim explained.

"Everyone knows everyone else's business, more like," Rufus added.

We got past all the shelves and saw a large, cleared space for bigger items of evidence, like cars.

The Impala was the only piece of vehicular evidence in the lock-up. As we came closer I heard Bobby groan.

We saw the back end first: fender scratched and dented all to hell, the lid of the trunk bent upwards, license plate missing altogether, the rear window had shattered into the car- I could see tiny bits of glass on the bench seats in the back.

The sides of the Impala had wide swaths of paint scraped from them; the roof was dented and scratched. The front end had taken the worst of damage: a big pine tree sized dent in the front of the car marked where she had come to a stop. The tree's branches had scraped against the hood of the car, leaving long claw-like scratches as if we'd run over Wolverine… or Freddy Krueger. The windshield was cracked but not broken, thank God, or else I'd have gotten a face full of glass.

The front passenger side door was no longer attached to the car, twisted metal and plastic showed where it looked as though someone had ripped it off its hinges. The door itself sat a few feet away from the Impala with no glass in its window.

"Bit overkill, don't you think, Bobby?" Rufus asked, staring at the door.

Pastor Jim cleared his throat.

Bobby meanwhile was inspecting the passenger side, looking at the dash, the seat, and the floor.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

Bobby held up a hand and sniffed. He sat back on his heels and sniffed again.

"C'mere, Dean," he said and I slowly made my way forward.

"What is it?" I asked and Bobby stood, put one hand on the back of my neck and pushed my head down gently.

"Take a deep breath and tell me what you smell," the hunter instructed and I complied.

I caught the scents of gasoline, motor oil, tires, antifreeze and… rotten eggs?

"Is that… is that sulfur?" I asked and Bobby released his grip.

I straightened and looked at the old hunter, "Yeah, its sulfur alright. That confirms it then."

I nodded, dug the keys from my pocket and opened the crumpled trunk so I could retrieve my duffel bag.

Bobby's eyebrows rose when he saw me sling the bag over my shoulder, "Removing evidence, Dean?"

I shrugged, "They probably didn't even know this was in the trunk. Besides, all my stuff's in here… and Sam's notebooks."

Bobby nodded and we left the station. Rufus paused to let one of the cops know we were finished with the lock-up and then we all piled into the Oldsmobile again.

Bobby and Pastor Jim were talking quietly up front and Rufus was leaning back against the seat, his eyes half-closed.

Pastor Jim turned around, "We're going to head to my place, okay?"

"Why not go back to Bobby's? Unless you're closer?" I asked.

"Jim's got all the fancy, new technology up at his place that'll be of more help n' a pile of dusty old books," Bobby explained.

"Okay," I said and sat back against the seat and watched the scenery fly by and wishing Sam was with me.

W

A little over three hours later Bobby pulled into the driveway of a rectory. The house was an old stone building with white trim and blue window shutters. The roof was dark grey shingles. "This is… quaint," I smiled a little, not at all surprised I could imagine the Pastor pottering in the little flower garden in the front or sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade in hand.

The Pastor chuckled and exited the Oldsmobile, stretching as he did so.

The inside was plain but nice. The floors sere old, worn hardwood, the walls covered in very light green wallpaper, area rugs made the place feel warmer.

There was a small den with an elderly flower-print couch and bookshelves everywhere. There was no television but an old gramophone and a radio on the coffee table.

The kitchen had white drawers and cupboards, yellow linoleum floors, a loudly humming refrigerator, a small wooden table with four matching chairs and no dishwasher. Luckily I saw a gas stove and a more modern microwave.

I turned to face the Pastor, "So where's the equipment I heard about?"

Pastor Jim smiled and led the three of us down a narrow hallway and into a room which must have been a study at one time. Now the books were replaced with a computer and hard-drive, a printer a fax machine and a T.V.

"Wow," I said, impressed.

Bobby immediately set to work. He sat down at the desk and turned on the computer, booting it up, his face reflecting the blue of the Start Up.

I turned to the Pastor and grabbed his hand, "Thank you… really, thank you."

The Pastor remained collected, "We only want to help you, Dean."

"I'm gonna call some folks I know and see iff'n they can bring us up to speed on any demon activity in the area," Rufus said.

"Better try the entire Midwest, Rufus," Bobby said, eyes still fixed to the screen, "Those sons of bitches could be anywhere."

The other hunter nodded and left the room, taking his cell phone from his pocket as he went.

I looked at Bobby, hoping to be given something to do but the old hunter seemed to be in his element.

"Come with me Dean," Pastor Jim laid a hand on my arm and I followed him into the den.

Before saying anything the Pastor turned the gramophone onto whatever he'd been listening to previously. Classical notes of piano flowed quietly through the room.

"Who is that, Beethoven?" I asked.

"Tchaikovsky," Pastor Jim answered.

I nodded and set my duffel bag down on the couch. I sat down on the rosebud print cushion and sighed.

Pastor Jim moved to the chair beside the gramophone and sat down. He didn't say anything, he just propped one elbow on the chair arm and his chin on his fist.

"What?" I asked, slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I want to get to know you Dean. I want to get to know Sam. I think that will help us to figure out why the demons took him," the Pastor said.

"Oh, okay…uh…" I muttered. Where to begin? There was so much to tell, but what was important and what wasn't?

W

After a few hours of pretty much giving the Pastor a play-by-play biography of Sam's life I stopped.

I shook my head, "I just don't understand it. Sam was a normal kid, he was gonna be a lawyer and then, BAM! Jess dies and he quits school."

Pastor Jim nodded, "It seems to me that the death of Miss Moore was a turning point for your brother."

I shrugged, "Maybe he was sick before, you know, and after the funeral he just couldn't take it anymore."

I guessed that it didn't really matter what had triggered Sam's illness, he had been institutionalized for years and didn't seem to be getting any better, really, if I was honest about it.

It killed me though to think of Sam living in Alexander's for the rest of his life. I grimaced as I imagined going to see him less and less because I simply didn't have the time- too busy with my own life: a wife and kids, in-laws, my job…

Slowly Sam might lose social skills; soon he wouldn't be able to live in the outside world because he wouldn't know how.

I looked at my duffel bag and pulled one of the notebooks from it. I flipped through the pages absent-mindedly. The artwork didn't seem like it came from the mind of a paranoid schizophrenic but a genius, a master with the pen, the pencil.

"May I see?" Pastor Jim's voice startled me from my thoughts and I hesitantly handed the notebook over.

"Hm," the Pastor muttered as he regarded each drawing as though they were created by Michelangelo or Rembrandt.

I shifted in my seat and craned my neck to see which drawing the Pastor was looking at.

"That's Jenny," I said as I recognized the long, straight hair and large round eyes.

Pastor Jim nodded, "She certainly is a very pretty girl."

"Huh, you should see her in real-life," I commented and the Pastor looked up, smiling.

I ended up showing Pastor Jim all of Sam's books. The holy man flipped through them carefully as though they were the Dead Sea Scrolls or something.

The Pastor made a tight noise in his throat when he saw his first rendition of Jessica's death. Sam had a lot of portraits of Jess while she was alive, smiling, happy, her curly hair flowing over her bare shoulders or in a tight bun.

I blushed, embarrassed for my absent brother when the Pastor came across a nude sketch of Sam's girlfriend.

"Do you think those can help?" I asked, "Or something?"

"They'll help us understand your brother better," the Pastor said.

"Oh," I muttered and ran a hand through my hair.

"You can give us only so much information, Dean, it's not your fault… these drawings give me a glimpse into your brother's mind," the Pastor said.

"Are you a shrink now?" I laughed nervously.

"No, but I do have a doctorate in psychology," Pastor Jim smiled blandly at my taken-aback expression.

The Pastor started laughing and a minute later I joined him.

"Hey Dean! C'mere a minute!" Bobby called from down the hall and I all but ran to the study.

"Did you find her?" I asked, hanging on the doorframe.

The hunter shook his head, "Maybe you can do better 'n me. You know what she looks like anyhow."

"Okay," I said and took Bobby's seat. He leaned over the chair, reading over my shoulder as I scanned the photos on the screen.

Bobby had a list of all the girls from the Midwest matching the demon's description. I stared at each picture, making sure it wasn't her before moving on.

I had been searching for that girl for about a half an hour when my cell phone rang and surprised me.

Bobby looked at me curiously and I shrugged. I checked the caller ID: it was Dr. Calhoun.

I grimaced, "I have to take this."

I moved into the kitchen and answered.

"Hello Doctor," I said as pleasantly as possible.

"Don't 'hello Doctor' me, Dean Winchester!" she snapped by way of greeting and I held in a sigh.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing? Sam needs to be here," Dr. Calhoun continued.

"Dr. Calhoun, please listen to me for a minute," I began but she cut me off.

"Sam needs to be in Alexander's, where there are people who can take care of him. He is still not well enough to be released yet," Dr. Calhoun explained.

I knew I had to lie. I couldn't tell the doc that I had been told by an old, bearded man that demons were after my brother- that would land me in the hospital right beside Sammy.

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, "I should have asked your permission before taking Sam, I'm sorry. But you didn't see him… he doesn't want to be at the hospital anymore, he's not getting any better and I thought… I just thought that a change of scenery would be good for him."

"Dean, Sam isn't getting his medication and he needs it. I don't know how long you were planning on having this vacation but you need to bring Sam back to Alexander's immediately. I know Sam doesn't like it here but it isn't like we're cruel… we're not monsters, Dean, we are trying to help Sam get better," Dr. Calhoun explained.

"Okay, okay, Doc. I'll bring Sam back as soon as I can," I said.

"No, Dean, now. Sam needs to come back, now," Dr. Calhoun demanded.

"Look-" I tried but once again she cut me off.

"If you weren't a cop I'd have you arrested for kidnapping, Dean," Dr. Calhoun, "Please, I don't want to ban you from the hospital but you are not giving me many options here."

"Alright Doc, just… I'll bring Sam back," I muttered. As soon as we find him, I added silently.

"I'll be looking forward to it" Dr. Calhoun said, "You make sure to take care of your brother… and you and I are going to have a long chat when you come back."

I grunted unintelligently and closed my cell phone.

"God damn it!" I shouted and hit my cell on the counter.

Pastor Jim stuck his head into the kitchen, looking worried.

"Oh, sorry Pastor," I muttered.

"Who was that?" Pastor Jim asked curiously.

"Uh, Sam's doctor," I grumbled.

"What did she have to say?" he moved into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

"She thinks Sam and I are on some sort of vacation or something and she wants Sam back at Alexander's pronto," I said and leaned against the counter.

"We'll find Sam and take him back to the hospital," Pastor Jim assured.

"It's not Alexander's I'm concerned about," I told him, "Sam hates it and although he's supposed to get better there… what kind of life is that for him? I mean, I told you he's been there for a long time, and he just doesn't seem to be improving."

Pastor Jim tented his fingers, "You think this Doctor Calhoun is purposefully making sure Sam isn't getting better?"

"No, nothing like that… but maybe, hell, maybe whatever they're doing, giving him all those medications and going to group therapy and all that shit, maybe it's not working because there's another way, a different way for Sam to get better," It sounded stupid even as I said it, of course what Sam needed was medicine and group and Jenny. He needed Alexander's whether he liked it or not. Whether I liked it or not.

Pastor Jim didn't say anything; he just nodded as if he understood what I was trying to say.

"I should, ah, I should get back and help Bobby find the girl," I muttered, slightly uncomfortable and walked past the Pastor and into the study.

Bobby had taken over for me while I was on the phone but now he stood so he could watch the pictures as I moved through them.

He didn't ask who had called and I was glad: I didn't want to repeat my conversation with Pastor Jim to the old hunter.

W

Hours passed and my eyes began to itch from staring at the computer screen for so long. Rufus returned and told us there were some signs of demon activity down in Nevada and far up in Alaska but he didn't think it was what we were looking for.

"May take some time before we know where they are," Bobby mused.

"Eh? And they may just be smart enough to keep their heads low," Rufus added.

Pastor Jim entered the room with a tray that had a teapot and teacups on it. The pot and cups were buttercup yellow and brimming with tea.

I raised an eyebrow, "What is it with hunters and tea?"

Pastor Jim looked surprised for a moment and then Bobby burst out laughing.

The four of us took a few minutes to stretch and relax. Not everything could be deathly serious all the time.

I was still extremely worried about Sam. I didn't know much about demons and from what I'd been told they don't usually kidnap people, or at least they don't in the traditional sense, and all I could think of was what might have been happening to my brother while I joked and drank tea with the hunters.

Bobby had told me, somewhat reassuringly, that the demons were not likely to kill Sam after going through all that trouble of kidnapping him. As if that idea eased my fears.

"What d'you think they're going to do to him?" I asked.

"I'm sorry I can't answer that, boy," Bobby said sadly.

Now that didn't make me feel any better.

W

Back to the grindstone. I had almost exhausted all the photos and still had found nothing.

C'mon Dean, you're a cop, so think like one.

I leaned back in my seat, cracked my knuckles and had an idea.

I typed quickly into the computer and a new set of missing girls appeared on the screen.

"What've you got?" Bobby asked and bent forward.

"We've been looking at potential kidnapping victims and we've come up with squat," I muttered, "But there are also runaways who are categorized as 'missing'.

"Where's this headed?" Bobby asked curiously.

"If you were a young runaway girl and you didn't want to be found, what would you do?" I asked, looking to Bobby to answer.

Bobby thought for a moment, "Disguise myself, maybe."

I smiled.

"But Dean, the poor girl's possessed by a demon…" Bobby began.

"Yeah, but I'm sure she wouldn't want anyone recognizing her from the Missing Persons posters and cramp her style," I explained.

"I may not know a whole lot about demons but if there is one thing I do know it's what lengths an angsty teenage runaway will do to stay away," I finished.

"An' Rufus thought it was a bad idea to bring you in on this," Bobby grinned from behind his beard.

"I remember the nurse's hair had to be dyed, it was too light to be natural," I said and scanned the pictures for a girl with brown eyes and a similar facial structure to the one who I had seen at the hospital.

Bobby beamed, looking like he could have kissed me (he didn't thankfully) and gazed over my shoulder with renewed vigor.

W

Hours passed and still I had come up with nothing.

"Hm, maybe I should do a nationwide search, you think?" I asked Bobby who was sitting in an old, carved wooden chair.

The old hunter nodded, "Couldn't hurt."

I sighed and broadened the search parameters.

If the girl had had an accent of some kind it would be much easier to find her. But I guess I wasn't that lucky.

Pastor Jim called us for dinner, saying that we all needed the break. While Bobby and I had been searching the world-wide web he and Rufus had scoured his book collection, looking for anything that would give us a clue as to why a bunch of demons would kidnap someone like Sammy.

We piled into the kitchen and the Pastor dished out four heaping bowls of Shepherd's Pie.

"He cooks too! Bobby, where can I get one?" I joked and both the hunter and Pastor laughed.

"If you'd believe it I learned to cook from my mother," Pastor Jim said and sat down after the rest of us had been served.

I nodded and dug into the pie. It had been a long time since I had had a good home cooked meal. I usually just micorwaved something for dinner or grabbed take-out unless I was eating at my parents' place- Mom had known how to cook and her desserts were pure heaven.

There wasn't a whole lot of talk during our meal. I think all of us were starved and Pastor Jim's pie was just so tasty.

Don't forget why you're here, Dean. A small voice in my head said, it sounded suspiciously like Sam's voice and I swallowed a mouthful of ground meat and mashed potatoes painfully.

"Seconds anyone?" Pastor Jim asked and I declined while both Bobby and Rufus agreed to more food.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Pastor Jim wanted to know, his face full of concern.

"Oh, yeah," I muttered.

The Pastor nodded and both Bobby and Rufus looked slightly abashed.

Bobby cleared his throat, "We'll find 'im Dean, we've done this kind of thing for a long time."

Rufus nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," I said quietly and felt my eyes sting with tears.

I clenched my hands into fists and told myself I WAS NOT GOING TO CRY IN FRONT OF THESE MEN.

"If you want we can call it a night and start fresh in the morning," Pastor Jim suggested.

"No, I need to find that girl… I'm close, I know I am," I said and stood abruptly and left the kitchen to return to the computer screen, desperate to find the girl as though she would be the key I needed to Sam's whereabouts.

You can't give up Dean, I thought, not now, not on Sammy. Never on Sammy.

I barely noticed when the three hunters entered the room. They stood behind my chair, scanning the screen as I did.

"Oh my God," I whispered as I stared at the last face in the list. It was her, it was the nurse! I had found her!

I felt Pastor Jim's hand on my shoulder. My breathing sped up as I read about the small, sharp-faced girl with brown eyes and caramel-coloured hair.

"Her name's Meg Masters," I whispered.

She was only in her early twenties, around Sam's age. She had been missing for seven months from her hometown of Pendleton, Oregon. No foul play was suspected- it was suggested that she was a runaway, one of many and had possibly gone to Hollywood to begin a career as an actress. She had wanted to act.

I felt my heart break for this poor girl who had had her dreams shattered by a monster she had no hopes of fighting.

Bobby patted my arm, "You did good, son."

I let out a sigh of relief.

"But this girl's only one piece of the puzzle," Rufus spoke up.

I closed my burning eyes.

"We've still gotta be on the lookout for signs of demon activity," he continued.

"How long will that take?" I asked, eyes still closed.

I heard as rustle as the hunter shrugged, "Dunno. We might find nuthin' and have to go in cold on this one."

"How? If there's no signs?" I looked at Bobby now.

"We look for recent numerous missing persons reports from single towns," Bobby said.

"They may be able to hide themselves from hunters but they can't hide from the local authorities for long if they start possessing people," Pastor Jim said softly.

"Now, it's been a long night, for all of us. We should all get some rest and start looking for odd patterns in the missing persons' database tomorrow," the Pastor said quietly but with authority.

I nodded and allowed the Pastor to lead me upstairs to where there were a couple of guest bedrooms.

I didn't even turn on the lights as I fell into bed and was asleep in seconds, exhausted.

Tomorrow Sammy, I thought in my dreams, I'll find you tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Motorhead song.


	3. Shadow Of The Wind

If words had names like red and green  
And two for sympathy  
Black and white and in between  
Then you'd be misery  
Every day is an inquisition  
Who are you? What are you? Why?  
I'm alive, I belong, I'll be back  
It's a half truth, still a whole lie  
In the garden of good and evil  
You'll come, but you know  
The spider only spins  
The Shadow of The Wind  
The Shadow of The Wind

-'Shadow of the Wind' by Black Sabbath

The first thing Sam noticed was that his head hurt. This wasn't new to him- he often had headaches and knew they would pass eventually.

The second thing Sam noticed was that he was cold- this also wasn't new, some of the medications Dr. Calhoun prescribed gave him chills, like he had a fever.

Sam realized he was lying on his side on a floor. He reached out a hand and felt smooth, cool cement. His breathing quickened and he opened his eyes a little- his head spiked with pain and he clenched his eyelids shut again. That was better.

Sam tried once again to open his eyes and this time it was better, he allowed his eyes to get used to the dim lighting and soon he was staring across the floor at… nothing, darkness. It was too poorly lit, wherever he was, to see very well.

Where am I? Sam thought. He certainly wasn't at Alexander's- there was no room in the hospital like this. He tried to remember where he had been and what he had been doing before waking up here, wherever here was, when he heard voices speaking somewhere nearby.

Sam didn't move as he listened to the conversation that sounded slightly muffled, like the people were in an adjacent room.

"Are you sure he's the one?" the first spoke, a deeper, male voice.

"You doubt me? You should know by now that I am never wrong," a soft, feminine voice said.

"I didn't say that… it's just… he is not like the others," the man said hesitantly.

"That's because he isn't, Barclay, he is different," the woman answered.

Sam realized that the couple must be talking about him! Who were these people and what did they want with him?

The man said something that Sam didn't catch and then the woman spoke again.

"Then let's go meet him," the words had just reached Sam when a door opened, shining light into the darkened room, causing Sam to throw an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"Close that door!" the woman snapped and there was a click as the man named Barclay did as he was told.

"Awww," the woman cooed as she walked across the room toward Sam. He could hear her shoes rapping sharply against the floor.

Sam lowered his arm and blinked. His eyes watered and he desperately tried to see the couple.

"Who…who are you?" Sam asked in a raspy voice.

The woman crouched in front of him and in the dim lighting he could make out her small figure. Her short, light coloured hair almost glowed around her head.

The woman tilted her head, "Surely you remember me?"

Sam shook his head and swallowed painfully. He didn't know this woman, didn't want to know her.

"Please," Sam asked, "Where am I?"

The woman chuckled but didn't answer. Sam could feel her eyes on him and he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"It's a shame you don't remember me… oh well, I don't suppose you would, I only met you once," the woman said wistfully and suddenly Sam realized he recognized her voice.

She was the nurse who had filled in for Jenny when she had called in sick… but that had been days ago.

"M-Meg?" Sam asked tentatively and the nurse clapped her hands as though he had pulled off some amazing trick.

"Am I… still at the hospital?" Sam ventured. If Meg was here than maybe he was still at Alexander's but he couldn't understand why it would have a room like this. Even the solitary confinement room was bright, with white padded walls and a gurney with straps- not that Sam ever had to go into that room but he had seen some of the other patients taken there, sneaking a peek at the room's interior before the door closed.

Meg shook her head, "You're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."

Sam shifted backwards a little, away from Meg. Something was definitely not right.

"Why am I here? I want to go home," Sam said and his eyes darted around the room, trying to find the man.

"Sorry Skippy, can't take you home," Meg said in a friendly voice.

Sam gulped and tried to stand, to get away from the woman who may or may not have been a real nurse but Meg reached out and grabbed his wrist with impossible strength.

"Let me go!" Sam cried out but Meg held his wrist and if anything, tightened her hold.

Sam let out a gasp as pain shot through his arm and he tried to pry her fingers away with his free hand. Meg's hand might as well have been made of steel for all the good Sam's efforts did him.

Meg watched as the boy became nearly frantic and then stopped struggling altogether. He slumped and his breathing was fast-paced. He took his free hand from his captured wrist and brought it instead to the side of his head where a wound was matted with blood and hair.

The boy groaned and Meg released her hold. Sam clutched his wrist to his chest. Meg watched the boy with interest, like a hawk observing its prey.

Meg turned her head toward her partner, "See Barclay, he may look big and scary but he's as harmless as a puddle of kittens."

Sam heard the man grunt a response and Meg chuckled. She turned her attention back to the boy.

Meg reached out and brushed some hair away from Sam's forehead with a gentle hand and the boy remained perfectly still as she did so.

"Wh-what do you want…want with me?" Sam asked in a whisper, afraid to raise his voice.

"Hm? Oh nothing much," Meg said as though distracted.

The girl stood and looked arrogantly at Sam. The boy stared back at her, uncertain of what she was about to do.

"Please… let me go," Sam begged, "I want to go home."

The boy raised a hand to his face in shock when Meg slapped him.

She glared, teeth bared and although she was much shorter than Sam, she appeared quite menacing. She grabbed a handful of the boy's shirt and pulled him close to her until their noses almost touched.

"You are not going home, so you can forget it," Meg snarled, "If I hear you whine about it again I will rip out your tongue, got it?"

Sam nodded, eyes wide with fright. Meg released the boy and beamed a smile at him.

"C'mon Barclay," Meg said and the male demon opened the door for her as they exited the room.

They climbed up the stairs and into the main part of the house. The two made an odd couple: tiny, light Meg with an eager smile and barrel-chested, thick-necked, frowning Barclay. The demon's current host was a retired wrestler with cauliflower ears; small, piggy eyes; a flat nose; dark, bristly hair and a droopy moustache.

The old house they were squatting in was miles away from civilization with a slim chance of anyone coming by to investigate. They had learned how to keep hidden from hunters- lay false tracks and remain off the grid- the two of them had done so for more than a year, occasionally suffering other demons to join in their fun… but only a select few- they didn't even trust their own kind and their work was very private, top secret, like the Manhattan Project.

Meg flitted into the kitchen and sat down on the counter, her legs dangling against the cupboards.

The demon tilted her head, "What? Still doubt me?"

Barclay leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. He shook his head.

"Something isn't right with him," he answered after a moment's pause.

"Of course there's something wrong with him, Barclay! He was in a mental health facility, you know, where the humans stick all the crazies," Meg explained.

"It's not that, Meg… there's something else," Barclay muttered and then shook his head again, at a loss for words.

"You worry far too much. That's not what you're here for," Meg said in a serious voice.

"Are you going to treat him like the others?" Barclay wondered.

Meg pressed a finger to her lips, thinking.

"His power is different from theirs… it's raw, stronger," she answered slowly.

Barclay nodded.

Meg jumped off the counter and walked over to the male demon. She wrapped her host's thin arms around him, "We're almost done, love. Can't you feel it?"

Barclay nodded and put one large hand on Meg's narrow shoulder.

SPN

Sam remained as though frozen for a number of minutes. He was so shocked at the words, the threat that the tiny woman had uttered that he just didn't react. His face still stung from the slap and his head pounded with even the slightest movement; his wrist throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

Sam tried to quell the panic rising in his chest. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. Maybe he should look around and see if there was a way out, a window or a secret passage…

Sam paused and almost laughed out loud- the room was dark but for the yellowy light from the single bare bulb dangling from what must be the center of the ceiling and he thought that if Meg and Barclay meant to keep him locked up they would have made sure any escape routes were sealed off.

But Sam didn't like the idea of staying in one spot and just waiting for the couple to come back- he slowly got to his feet and moved forward a few paces.

He continued in a straight line, or what he thought was a straight line, until he reached a wall. Sam reached out and touched the wall with the tips of his fingers- he felt rough brick. He moved along the wall, fingers trailing against the brickwork as he tried to envision the room's dimensions in his head.

He stopped when he came to the door- it felt just like the metal security door that had been in his apartment when he'd been at Stanford. On impulse, Sam gripped the cold metal handle and was shocked to find that it turned easily in his grasp! His kidnappers had forgotten to lock it! He could escape!

I need to wait, Sam thought, if they don't come back I can wait until it's night and then just sneak out!

The only downside to Sam's escape plan was the fact that he had no idea where Meg and Barclay were. He could easily break out of the room only to run right into his captors.

Sam held his breath for a moment and tried to hear any sounds from the other side of the door. Nothing. He pressed his ear against the door and listened. Still nothing.

With no way to tell what time it was and not being able to hear if Meg and Barclay were nearby Sam decided he would just have to take his chances and risk meeting the couple.

"It's better than being a sitting duck," Sam muttered to himself.

He stepped away from the door. Meg and Barclay would probably be expecting an escape attempt this soon after his kidnapping- or so Sam hoped- and thought that he could wait a little while at least.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face and looked around the dim room. He could feel that panic begin to rise again and he moved to sit beneath the only source of light and close his eyes, telling himself that he'd escape and find Dean so his brother could take him back to Alexander's.

SPN

Barclay's brows pinched together as he walked past the basement. It was too quiet. By now the boy should have been acting like the others had done- calling out for help, begging to be set free- but he wasn't making a sound.

The demon shook his head and sought out Meg. The female demon was lounging on the old, musty couch in the living room, inspecting her nails.

"He's not making a sound," Barclay said, trying not to sound worried.

"Hm, that's new," Meg answered, distracted.

"Aren't you nervous he's going to off himself before we can do what we need to?" Barclay asked.

Meg rolled her eyes, "What's he going to do? Hang himself with his shoelaces?"

The other demon shrugged.

"Relax. Everything is under control, love," Meg purred and stretched herself languidly out on the couch.

Barclay allowed his eyes to go black for a moment, revealing his displeasure with the female demon, "Is this a big joke to you?"

Meg arched her back and went rigid, "How dare you accuse me of not taking this seriously! I was the one that brought you in on this, Barclay, don't you forget that! I can easily do this by myself!"

"I remember," Barclay answered.

"I'm just letting him stew, consider his position," Meg said with a smile, "It always seemed to work with the others."

Barclay shrugged. He'd let Meg do things her own way; it made her happy. And if it got the job done eventually, who was he to mess up her good time?

Meg watched Barclay carefully as he left her in the living room. She sniffed and continued to inspect her nails.

Who did he think he was? She was the one chosen for this assignment. She, out of hundreds of other demons had been picked to do this job. It was because of her connections, Meg knew, but still she felt pride in the honour of being the driving force in so great an event.

No one was complaining, anyway, so why did Barclay have to be such a killjoy?

Meg smiled. Killjoy. Kill Joy. She liked the sound of that. It had been a long time since she had been 'topside' she had almost forgotten how much fun it was.

Meg thought about the others, the ones before this boy and decided that maybe she liked Sam Winchester the best. He might prove a challenge and Meg liked challenges.

He certainly was different from the others anyway- he wasn't a sniveling, sobbing idiot like the others had been. They started crying before she had even touched them!

Meg had sensed the boy's power as soon as she had entered Utica. It was only a matter of hours before she had located him. She had been surprised to find him in an asylum- the others had nothing to distinguish them from the dozens of other humans living in their neighbourhoods. Except for their powers, that is. Meg could sense them just as any person might smell faint scents on a breeze.

Meg stopped looking at her nails and looked up at the cracked, water stained ceiling. It had almost been too easy to kidnap the kids- stealing into their silent houses at night with Barclay by her side or driving casually up to them while they walked home from work- they had been completely unsuspecting.

The only trouble had been with this boy. By the time Meg had drugged him and planned to sneak him out of the hospital he was already gone. Meg hadn't panicked though, she was far too confident to let something like a missing target worry her. She could still sense him although he was moving farther and farther away, her sense of his power becoming fainter but she had been patient and indeed her patience had paid off.

Meg couldn't have been happier when Barclay had spotted the boy and his brother on the I-80 E and after that all it had taken was a little nudge over a ravine and Sam Winchester was as good as hers.

The demon got up from the couch and stretched her arms over her head, curving her spine back and groaning with pleasure as the vertebrae popped.

Now was not the time to relax. She had work to do.

"Barclay!" Meg called and within seconds the large demon had appeared in the doorway of the living room.

"I think we should visit our guest," Meg said and Barclay followed the female demon to the basement.

SPN

Sam Winchester curled himself into a tight ball and closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow and ragged. He couldn't seem to draw enough air into his lungs and his entire body screamed for oxygen.

Tears leaked from beneath his closed eyelids and he bit his lip to keep from crying out loud. What had he done? What had he done to Meg or Barclay to make them attack him?

He had just been sitting quietly, trying to remain calm and ignore the pain in his head and wrist when the door had burst open and the couple grabbed him. Barclay pinned him and Meg had hit him. He had been shocked at the strength the tiny woman possessed- if Sam hadn't known better he would have sworn one of the large orderlies from Alexander's was hitting him.

Sam had cried out and begged Meg to stop but she didn't. She just punched him in the head, right where the older injury was and he had nearly passed out from the agony and nausea it had caused.

When Sam thought that he was going to lose consciousness Meg kicked him in the chest and the couple left him alone.

Sam gulped in as much air as his bruised ribs would allow and shivered even though he still had his hoodie on. All he wanted to do was sleep but the pain and knowledge that Meg and Barclay might come back dispelled any thoughts of it.

Very slowly Sam uncurled himself and lay flat on his back. He took deep breaths despite the pain and knew he had to leave.

If Meg and Barclay intended to hurt him again he knew he could not, must not stay. He needed to escape. Now.

Sam waited for what he hoped was a few hours, praying that the couple would be gone. He picked himself off the floor and moved quietly to the door. He tried to doorknob and was surprised to find that the door was still unlocked. Sam had been fully prepared to be trapped, especially after Meg and Barclay had entered the room. Maybe they were just too confident in their own abilities. Whatever it was, they didn't seem to have noticed that the door should have been locked. Slowly Sam turned the handle and eased the door open. He stumbled into another part of the basement and shielded his eyes from the bright light. There was a wooden staircase that led to the main part of the house.

Careful of making any noise, Sam crept up the steps- one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching his chest protectively.

Sam glanced down either end of the hallway and saw no one. From a window he could see that it was nighttime.

Maybe they're asleep, Sam thought and wondered which way would lead him to the front door.

He decided to turn left and slowly, inch by inch made his way down the hall. Sam could feel his heart beat painfully with the anticipation of freedom.

Sam paused at the end of the hall and saw the front door only feet away. So close!

He took a step forward and paused. Nothing. Sam moved forward again and paused, listening for any sign of Meg or Barclay. He continued like this until he made it to the front door. With one shaking, sweating hand Sam reached out and could have wept with relief when the doorknob turned.

Sam gave a startled cry when he felt a hand grip his shoulder painfully. His attacker spun him away from the door and Sam found himself standing face to face with Barclay.

The man reached out with his free hand and shut the door.

"Leaving so soon?" Meg's voice chirped from behind her large partner.

"N- n-no," Sam stuttered with fear.

The man shook his head.

"Please," Sam cried out, "I won't tell anybody!"

The man tightened his grip on Sam's shoulder and he gasped in pain.

Sam wasn't getting out of the house without a fight. He raised his knee and drove it into Barclay's crotch as hard as he could.

The man grunted and released Sam. Taking advantage of the distraction, Sam dove for the front door.

He tugged at the doorknob even as Meg was dragging him away. She had grabbed the back of his shirt and Barclay recovered, snatching one of his arms.

"No! No!" Sam shouted and punched blindly at his attackers.

Meg swept her foot underneath Sam and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor.

The girl crouched down and gripped his jaw in her hands, her manicured nails nearly digging into his face.

"If you ever try something like that again I will not hesitate to disembowel you while you watch," she whispered.

Meg shoved Sam's head away, "Take him back downstairs and make sure that door's locked this time."

Barclay nodded and pulled Sam up and shoved the boy before him as they made their way back down to the basement.

When Sam reached the threshold of the room, Barclay hit the young man in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious, locking the door after him

SPN

Meg was surprised the boy had actually attempted such an escape. He must be quite smart… or very stupid.

Either way that little bit of excitement had refreshed the demon. This one was going to be a challenge. Meg smiled.

The demon could have squealed like a little girl. This was going to be so much fun!

"Barclay! Did you expect him to do that?" Meg asked the other demon.

The male demon poked his head out from the kitchen, "No… the others didn't even try and get out."

"I know," Meg almost purred, "I want to go out on the town tonight."

The demon did a little ballet-style dance around the living room and laughed. The boy's powers were locked tightly away and all she had to do was unlock them. Pain was the key. It had been so for the others and it would be the same for this one. This boy, the last, the seventh possessed a power far greater than the others and it was far more wild, untamed. The other six had been aware of their power or at least aware of some aspect of it and it hadn't taken Meg much to release their entire potential. Meg supposed that the boy's power would be difficult to release because of the mental illness he suffered- she was certain, though, with enough encouragement she could reveal it.

Meg looked up when Barclay stepped into the living room, "Is our guest safely tucked away for the night?"

Barclay nodded, "He won't be getting out again anytime soon."

"Great! Let's go, I'm in the mood for Chinese," Meg said and led the way out of the house for a very rare trip into the nearby, tiny town of Strathmore.

SPN

Sam didn't know how long he had been held prisoner. It could have been days, weeks, or months, he didn't know. Didn't really want to know because that would mean the more time he had spent as Barclay and Meg's captive.

The only way he was able to have even a vague sense of time was when the couple appeared to hurt him again- it felt as though that happened at regular intervals at least.

Sam had tried figuring out how many hours passed between each attack. He had counted to sixty at least three times before he lost track and didn't bother to start again.

It didn't matter to Sam, really, if each torture session came every three hours or six hours or nine hours- it was all the same.

Sam had realized that the couple didn't want him dead- for whatever reason they wanted him alive- and they actually gave him bread and water.

If I ever get out of here I won't complain about the food they serve at Alexander's again, Sam thought as he munched slowly on the slice of bread Barclay had brought him, washing it down with water from the bottle the man had brought delivered as well.

'Yeah, if you ever get out of here', the whispered.

Sam stopped chewing, "Shut up."

He had begun hearing the voices again and although he knew he shouldn't listen to them, it didn't really matter now that he was locked up in the basement of some house, the captive of a psychotic couple, with no means of escape. At least the voices gave him some company.

Dean would be able to escape. Dean-The-Cop was everything Sam wasn't- he was strong and brave and smart- Dean would never let himself get kidnapped in the first place.

'That's right, Sammy, you're just a big screw up,' the voices spoke again.

Sam missed Dean. He wished that his brother would fling that door open and take him away from this place and he'd never see Meg or Barclay again.

When he'd woken up after his botched escape attempt Sam had found that the door had been securely locked. The handle would not turn even an inch. There was no way now for him to break out- not that Sam wanted to attempt that again. Sam could barely believe he had been so close to freedom only to have it snatched away. He had been so careful and quiet! Maybe the couple had left the door unlocked on purpose, just to see if he would try and escape. Maybe it was a part of their sick game.

Sam was sure Dean and Dad were looking for him- they had to be- and hoped they would find him before Meg and Barclay got bored and killed him.

Try to think of the positives, Sam reminded himself of something Dr. Calhoun always said: Make a list of everything good, focus on the things that make you happy, celebrate the positive aspects of your life.

That was easy for her to say, Sam thought, but he did the exercise anyway. If only to give himself something to do.

I'm not dead, Sam thought, that's a good thing… I'm not starving at least…

That was about as far as the meager 'positive' aspects went. Sam sighed and finished the bread and his stomach grumbled, not nearly full enough.

I'm so lonely, Sam admitted and selfishly thought that if there was someone else with him he at least wouldn't feel so alone.

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He rested his cheek against his jean-clad knees and closed his eyes. He reached up and slipped the hood of his sweater over his head, he didn't know why but it somehow made him feel safer. Maybe because this hoodie had originally been Dean's and come to think of it, Sam wasn't sure why he even had it- the last thing he remembered before waking up in this basement was going to sleep in his room at Alexander's, early because he had been really tired after dinner. Sam shrugged, maybe Dean had left it at the hospital the last time he had visited and Sam just didn't remember.

SPN

Barclay looked askance at Meg, "It didn't take this long with the others."

"Have a little patience," Meg answered, "I knew he'd be challenging."

The male demon shifted nervously, "But the longer we stay here the better chance there is of hunters finding us."

"Don't worry," Meg assured her partner, "We'll be long gone before any hunters come sniffing around here."

Barclay grunted a response.

"Maybe I should change my technique," Meg said thoughtfully.

The male demon watched as Meg walked into the kitchen and found the item she wanted and headed down into the basement. Barclay remained at the top of the stairs; arms crossed over his barrel-chest and listened to the sounds coming from their captive.

An hour later Meg made her way back upstairs, her hands covered in blood.

"Anything?" Barclay asked.

Meg shook her head but didn't look perturbed; she washed her hands clean in the kitchen sink.

"You've got a little on your face," Barclay pointed to a streak of blood on Meg's cheek when she turned around.

Meg chuckled and swiped at the blood. Her eyes sparkled with malicious glee.

"You know Meg, I've been thinking… maybe he isn't one of them, maybe he's just some regular human, maybe you grabbed the wrong one," Barclay suggested.

"What?!" Meg's demeanor changed.

"I am never wrong!" the demon snarled.

Barclay raised his hands, "Okay, okay, you're not wrong."

Meg smiled.

"I just think we should try to speed things up a bit, you know?" he said.

SPN

The three demons stared at the boy. Meg danced on the balls of her feet. Barclay looked bored.

"Can you help, Lucius?" Meg asked in a little girl's voice.

The third demon was a tall, thin man with a bald head and a white beard and moustache and piercing blue eyes.

"I could if you told me why you want me to assist," Lucius complained in a surprisingly light, reedy voice.

"Sorry, top secret," Meg said and put a finger aside her nose.

Lucius looked at Barclay and the other demon just shook his head.

"Hm," Lucius mumbled.

"C'mon Lucius, all you have to do is work your magic," Meg urged. She hadn't wanted to call someone else in, she had wanted to do this by herself but Barclay had insisted.

"You flatter me," Lucius said.

"You're the only one 'topside' who's skilled enough to do this," Meg said.

Barclay nodded, "Meg wouldn't let just any demon in on this, you know."

Lucius sighed and looked at the human cowering on the ground a few feet away from them.

"I suppose I could try," Lucius said in an indifferent tone.

"What am I waiting for, exactly?" he asked before approaching the boy.

"I'll know when you've got it," Meg said, not really answering his question.

Lucius glanced at the female demon for a moment and the rolled up his shirtsleeves and walked toward the human.

SPN

"It's been four weeks! A month!" I exclaimed and Pastor Jim gave me a sympathetic look.

"We're trying, boy," Bobby answered.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger.

"I know, it's just, God, I just want to know that Sam's okay," I muttered and the Pastor put a hand on my shoulder.

"We'll find yer brother, Dean. I promise you," Bobby repeated for the umpteenth time.

I nodded and blinked away the moisture in my eyes.

"Come with me," Pastor Jim said and he led me into his living room. He turned on the gramophone- classical again- and turned to me.

"You must have faith, Dean. God works in mysterious ways," the Pastor said and I almost smiled.

"I'm not going to be able to go back to my life after this am I? I won't be Officer Dean Winchester, Utica PD… that part of me will be gone," I muttered the question.

"It would be very difficult to try and maintain a civilian life after knowing just what kind of evil is out there," Pastor Jim answered, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I need to find him, Jim, I need to bring Sam home," I said. I had received numerous calls from Dad, Dr. Calhoun and Jenny asking when Sam and I were coming back to Utica and I hated lying to them all but it was necessary. My partner had asked if I was coming back to the station soon, told me there was a rumor going around that I'd been transferred. I told Jimmy that I wasn't sure when I would be returning and that no, I hadn't been transferred anywhere.

At night when everyone else was asleep I often found my eyes drawn to the wooden crucifix on the guest bedroom's wall and prayed for Sam's safety. I'll admit that I've never been to a church in my life- except when I was baptized as a baby; Mom had insisted- but something about the idea of a benevolent being watching out for my little brother made me feel a little better.

"I love ya, Sammy; I'm coming for ya so just hang in there."

SPN

Sam was barely conscious. He could feel blood seeping out of his mouth but he didn't care. He shivered but didn't curl up for warmth. Sam was sure he was going to die now.

His half-closed eyes saw nothing. Every inch of his body screamed in agony. Sam let out a groan that was more of a sigh. There had been a new person, another one to hurt him.

Whatever Meg and Barclay had been waiting for hadn't happened and it had so enraged the woman that when the newcomer was finished, she began to attack him, beating him and spewing profanities at him.

Sam almost wished that whatever Meg and Barclay wanted to happen did happen so they would stop tormenting him.

Tears streamed unheeded down his swollen face and his breathing hitched as he tried to hold back his cries.

Sam's body shuddered with pain as he attempted to hold his sobs back.

He didn't dare try and move, he didn't know how many bones were broken- he was sure there were broken ones.

Blood and snot and tears leaked down Sam's face and formed a puddle under his head but he didn't care- he wouldn't have minded if he drowned in the mess.

"Dean," Sam said almost soundlessly, his voice cracking.

The voices had disappeared and now he was totally alone.

SPN

"Fuck!" Meg screamed and kicked a kitchen chair across the room.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, "I did what you asked me."

"Get the fuck out of here you fucking idiot!" Meg shouted in his face.

The demon didn't need to be told twice and left the abandoned house as fast as he could.

"We'll try again later, Meg," Barclay suggested.

"When? That boy could be dead! That fucking moron probably killed him!" Meg demanded.

Barclay didn't say anything. Meg hadn't stopped Lucius so it would partly be her fault if the boy died.

"He can't die Barclay, he just can't. If he dies than everything we've worked so hard to achieve will be ruined," Meg said, calmer now.

"Well we could, ah, patch him up a little," Barclay suggested.

Meg laughed at first but then considered the male demon's statement.

"All right, smart-ass, get down there and make sure that boy stays alive for a little while longer," Meg gestured to the hallway leading to the basement.

"If I have to do this, so do you," Barclay said and folded his meaty arms over his chest, "Besides, you're the bright one who chose to pretend to be a nurse."

"Fuck you," Meg grumbled but followed Barclay down to the basement, pausing momentarily to retrieve a First Aid kit from one of the house's bathrooms.

SPN

"Just watch, Dean, don't say a word," Pastor Jim advised as we made our way down the steps to his basement.

"It might say some things to you but don't listen," the Pastor continued, "It will lie."

I nodded and my heart sped up. We made our way down the rickety wooden steps. I could see that the walls were covered in wooden boards and dust. A string of plain light bulbs gave illumination to the dismal cellar.

"Never had time to refinish the place?" I asked jokingly.

"Hardly ever come down here," Pastor Jim answered. The floors were poured cement with steel support beams reaching up to the ceiling.

We walked through the main room of the basement and into a small room that was bare except for a red Devil's Trap spray painted on the concrete floor. A chair sat in the middle of the trap and a young man was tied to it.

Bobby and Rufus were eyeing the occupant of the chair warily.

The young man grinned up at Pastor Jim and I as we entered the room.

"So nice of you to join us," he sniggered.

"Shut yer trap until we tell ya otherwise!" Bobby growled.

I noticed Rufus had a gallon jug of what appeared to be water and a very old looking book with him.

"Dean, meet yer first demon," Bobby said.

"This fellow's name is Tate," the hunter continued and the young man wiggled his fingers at me.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

Bobby scratched his beard, "Well, apparently Tate here knows somethin' about that demon whose possessin' Meg Masters and he might know where yer brother is."

I nodded and the three hunters turned to the demon.

"Now Tate, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," Pastor Jim said in an agreeable voice.

Tate spat at the Pastor, "You think I'm scared of three old men? All you'll do is exorcise me."

"Hard way it is then," Bobby rumbled and Rufus handed Pastor Jim the book.

Pastor Jim licked his finger and flicked through the pages at a leisurely pace as though giving Tate time to think about his decision.

"I don't know anything about your brother! I've never even met him!" Tate said, looking worriedly at Pastor Jim.

"C'mon Tate. We know you know something," Bobby coaxed.

"I don't! I don't!" the demon exclaimed and Bobby nodded at Rufus.

The black hunter splashed some of the water from the jug onto Tate and the demon's reaction was instantaneous. Steam billowed up from where the water had hit the man and the demon screamed in pain- it was as though Rufus had thrown boiling water on him.

"Whoa!" I cried and jumped back. Bobby put a steadying hand on my arm.

"I don't know anything you assholes!" Tate cried and Rufus just splashed more water.

"We can do this all day long," Rufus said mildly.

"Will that hurt the guy?" I asked Bobby in a whisper.

"Nah, holy water don't hurt you now does it? The poor guy won't even notice," Bobby explained, "He'll just wake up sopping wet and with one hell of a headache."

It still unnerved me to watch Tate writhe and scream, bound in the chair. All my instincts and training was telling me to help him but my common sense told me that would be suicide.

"Jim, you wanna try?" Bobby asked and the Pastor nodded and began to speak.

"Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino…" Tate began to thrash violently, his eyes turned jet black and he snarled like a wild animal.

"Okay! Okay!" Tate panted and Pastor Jim paused.

"Ready to talk?" Rufus asked.

"I… never met the girl, alright? I've just heard rumors…" Tate said and looked from Bobby to Rufus to Pastor Jim and finally me.

"Uh huh, keep talkin' boyo," Bobby nodded.

"Heard they were abducting kids… I don't know why…" Tate explained.

"Jim?" Bobby raised an eyebrow at the Pastor.

"That's all I know!" Tate cried out but the Pastor was already continuing.

"Qui fertis super caelum caeli ad Orientum…" Pastor Jim turned the page and kept going, "Ecce dabit voci Suae…"

"STRATHMORE! They're in Strathmore!" The demon screamed.

"Where's that?" Bobby demanded but Tate refused to say anymore.

"Finish it, Jim," Rufus said and I watched as Pastor Jim finished reciting the exorcism.

Tate flailed around for a few seconds and then went rigid and I stared in horror as thick black smoke poured out of his mouth, floated to the floor and dissipated through the cement with a crackling of lightning and a faint sulfurous odor.

I didn't realize I was breathing heavily until Bobby put a hand on my shoulder, "It's okay, son, it's over."

I wiped a trembling hand over my face.

"It said Sam was in Strathmore… is that good?" I asked.

"There's gotta be hundreds of towns named Strathmore in this country alone," Bobby didn't sound hopeful.

"Do you think it was lying?" I asked and watched as Pastor Jim approached the man now sitting limply in the chair.

Pastor Jim pressed two fingers into the guy's neck, checking for a pulse and shook his head sadly. He made the sign of the cross over the man's body and I heard him mutter some more Latin words before he joined us on our way upstairs.

Rufus stayed downstairs to 'clean up the evidence' as though we had just committed a crime, which I guess they had.

"Don't think it was lying about that but it don't really matter," Bobby commented when we reached the main floor, "We're gonna have our work cut out for us now just tryin' to find the right Strathmore."

Bobby and I headed straight to the study and I immediately got onto the computer, looking up all the Strathmores in the country.

Pastor Jim came in a little while later with a pot of tea.

"You did well, Dean," the Pastor said and handed me a china cup full of Earl Grey.

"Huh, I just stood there like an idiot," I muttered and sipped the hot beverage.

"That was an easy way to have your first encounter with a demon," Bobby said.

"Second if you count Meg," I corrected.

"Luck was on yer side then too," Bobby replied.

I sighed, "It wasn't on Sam's side."

Pastor Jim gripped my shoulder comfortingly, "We have a name now. That's something. We just have to look for any demon signs and we'll find Sam."

SPN

Sam opened his eyes and was not surprised to see that he was still in the basement room. He had come to expect that would be the first thing he'd see when he woke up. Heck, it'd probably be the last thing he'd ever see.

He was surprised to find that the hoodie he wore had been bundled up and shoved under his head like an impromptu pillow. Sam realized that most of the worst wounds had been bandaged in gauze and medical tape. That didn't help the agony he felt but at least he wouldn't bleed to death now.

Sam's gaze shifted and he saw a couple of slices of bread and a bottle of water within reach. He didn't move though, he didn't want to eat anything- his appetite had disappeared.

"What do you want with me? Why are you doing this?" Sam whispered, his voice hoarse.

A few stray tears leaked down Sam's face before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

SPN

Barclay gritted his teeth in irritation. Meg paced from the living room and into the kitchen and back. The female demon gripped the handle of a knout in her hand, tapping the end against her leg.

"I thought you liked challenges," the male demon snickered.

"Shut up!" Meg raised the weapon threateningly.

Barclay shrugged and sighed, "We've got to be close, don't you think?"

Meg paused, "Yes, we are close… so close… that's why I am so frustrated."

Barclay approached Meg, he raised her chin with two thick fingers, "One more session should do it. But… let's wait a bit, yes? We don't want him dying before we've finished."

Meg grimaced, "You know I don't like charity, Barclay."

The male demon's face broke into a smile, "Let's just call it insurance, then."

Meg squealed like a girl, "I can't wait to see the look on his face!"

The others had looked shocked or terrified; sometimes both when they finally did it, one girl even started screaming which was an interesting reaction. But the point was that Meg had gotten through to all of them and she would get through to this boy- maybe it was so difficult because he was the last, either way the demon relished the anticipation in seeing his eyes grow large, his mouth drop open in shock. Meg giggled- this was just the first step in some very big, very important plans for those kids… and the rest of the human race and Meg couldn't wait believe she was the one to start everything off. They were so close, so close, Barclay had assured Meg and the demon was sure he was right. They would succeed. They would release the boy's power and then the real fun would begin. Meg supposed if she had waited this long she could wait a little longer. No sense in ruining a good thing.

SPN

Barclay returned. Sam cowered when the larger man opened the door but his captor did not approach. All he did was put new food down and take away the old stuff. Sam didn't eat anything- he could barely get the water down his throat as it was much less the bread.

Sam wished they would just leave him alone. He was exhausted and all he wanted to do was sleep. He was in pain and all he wanted to do was lie still and try not to think about what was happening.

Barclay had never been the one to actually hurt Sam- he had been the one to pin him or pull him up if he collapsed or wake him up if he'd been on the verge of passing out but it was Meg who was the real tormentor. It was Meg who grinned fiendishly when she hurt him; it was Meg who called him vile names when she didn't get what she wanted. Barclay remained silent and obeyed the woman's orders. That didn't make the man any less frightening though, in Sam's mind.

Sam didn't know how long the two left him by himself. He didn't think they were done with him so he waited in agonizing anticipation for Barclay to open the door with Meg trailing behind him, grinning like a madwoman.

"Please leave me alone, go away, leave me alone, go away," Sam muttered under his breath, the words becoming a mantra until he was overcome with exhaustion and fell into a troubled sleep.

SPN

"Bobby, this is stupid. Can I open my eyes yet?" I asked with my eyes tightly closed.

"Not yet, boy," Bobby's amused voice said as he guided me with a hand on my arm.

There had been no sign of demons in any town called Strathmore anywhere in the States and despite the hunters' assurances I was beginning to lose hope. From experience I knew that most kidnap victims died within the first twenty-four hours of going missing- having to learn all those statistics at school was not fun. Although there had only been a few kidnapping cases in Utica since I had joined the force it didn't make anything better. Those sorts of crimes did not end happily for anybody.

"I am so not in the mood for this right now," I grumbled. The old hunter had led me outside and now I could feel him slowing down.

We stopped and Bobby spoke, "You can open your eyes."

I complied and saw… the Impala.

"What is this?" I asked.

"A 1967 Chevy Impala," Bobby answered sarcastically.

"I know that! I mean, why is it here?" I wandered and walked up to the car. She was still in the same condition she had been when we had seen her in the evidence lock-up.

"I figured you'd like to fix 'er," Bobby said.

I turned to the old hunter, "Fix her? Now? While my little brother's still out there somewhere! With demons!"

Bobby raised his hands, "Now don't go bitin' my head off afore I can explain."

I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

"Jim's saying yer moping around a lot," the hunter said, "Keep staring at that computer screen 'an the maps enough to give yerself eyestrain. I was just thinkin' that fixing up this old girl would give you somethin' to do, you know, take yer mind off things for a bit."

I didn't respond for a moment and then I sighed and swiped a hand through my hair. Pastor Jim had been trying everything he could think of to try and lift my depression and I had adamantly refused any offer of help.

"I'm just so goddamn worried, Bobby," I muttered, "What if we don't find him? What if he's dead?"

"We'll find yer brother, Dean," Bobby promised, "That's the biggest thing."

I nodded. He was right. Just like a cop, I thought, he's sometimes just like a cop.

"Thanks Bobby," I said and looked at the car.

"Uh…Bobby?" I scratched the back of my neck, embarrassed.

"Yeah?" the hunter asked.

"I have no idea how to fix cars," I admitted and Bobby just grinned and put an arm around my shoulders, "Well, let me show you."

SPN

Barclay watched noncommittally as Meg beat the boy with the knout- it had turned out to be the female demon's favourite weapon choice for torture. She had used it on the others and she had already used it on the boy before but now she attacked with a vengeance.

Meg had complained that she could wait no longer and so they had decided to go ahead and finish the job.

Barclay had stripped the boy to the waist and tied his wrists together with a long length of rope, looped the rope over an exposed support beam in the ceiling so that the human hung with the toes of his shoes just barely brushing the cement floor.

The demon watched the boy's expression- his eyes clenched shut against the pain, tears leaking silently down his face, his lip bit bloody as he forced himself to keep from crying out.

Sweat trickled down the boy's bare chest, blood ran down his arms from wrists rubbed raw.

Meg paused and came around to face the boy. He was trembling from the strain in his arms and the wounds in his back.

"Hm," Meg pondered.

"He looks like he's going to pass out, Barclay," Meg said and the male demon approached the boy and smacked him across the face.

The boy's eyes popped open and he cried out, blood from his lip dribbled down his chin.

The boy moaned quietly and half-closed his eyes.

"Please… stop," the boy's words were barely audible.

"Aw, Sweetheart," Meg said in a condescending tone, "I'll stop just as soon as I get the reaction I'm looking for."

She walked behind the boy again and continued the beating.

Barclay waited and waited and waited. A couple more times he had to rouse the human from drifting into unconsciousness.

The male demon froze though when he felt a faint tremor in the floor.

"Meg," he said the other demon didn't hear him.

The trembling increased, "Meg! Stop!"

Barclay watched as a crack appeared in the ceiling, splitting it down the middle; chunks of plaster broke and fell to the floor.

Now Meg stopped. She was panting, her mouth forming a wide grin.

She sidestepped to face the boy. Meg frowned; the boy was quickly losing consciousness.

The female demon raised the knout again but Barclay put a restraining hand on her arm.

"What are you doing?" Meg hissed.

"There's no time," Barclay rumbled and pushed Meg away from the human.

The demon paused long enough to cut the rope and the boy crumpled to the floor. The quaking of the house did not stop, if anything it increased. The demons heard the crunch of wood and the shattering of china as the hutch in the living room collapsed.

Meg and Barclay ran from the house, the female demon laughing and grinning.

"We did it, Barclay! We did it!" Meg cried as they ran until they could no longer feel the ground shake.

SPN

"Dean! Dean, wake up!" I heard a familiar voice in my ear; a hand shook my shoulder frantically.

"What's wrong?" I muttered, still half asleep.

"I think we've found 'im," Bobby said and I bolted upright.

"What!" I gasped and jumped out of bed, clad only in my boxers and a t-shirt.

I scrabbled to grab some clothes and put them on.

"Where is he? Is he okay?" I asked as I pulled my jeans up and paused to tug a sweatshirt over my t-shirt.

"Dunno, but Rufus n' I heard on the news that this little town in Maryland had a minor earthquake early in the evening," Bobby explained.

"Let me guess: the town's called Strathmore," I said and Bobby nodded.

"How do you know this is the right place?" I asked and we made our way downstairs. I saw Pastor Jim and Rufus at the kitchen table drinking tea.

"There was also a major electrical storm last night," Bobby continued, "And quakes aren't all that common down east."

"Why didn't you wake me up then?" I asked, irritated. We could already have been on our way to Maryland by now.

"I didn't wanna get yer hopes up, Dean," Bobby commented, "So I called some friends of mine down that ways and asked them to verify and I only just got the go ahead a minute a ago."

I looked at the three hunters, "What are we waiting for?"

Not five minutes later the four of us were crammed into the Oldsmobile and heading straight toward my brother… or so I hoped…. No, or so I prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Black Sabbath song.


	4. Back Together

It all comes apart but then my eyes  
Try to put it back together  
It all comes apart could I ever  
Put it back together  
I watch the shadows fall across the floor  
And the wind blows wild  
Step outside into the night  
Step outside myself for awhile

-'Back Together' by Screaming Trees

Nearly twenty-four hours later Bobby cut the engine of the blue Oldsmobile just within the city limits of Strathmore, Maryland, population 112. The town was really small and just a couple of hours away from Baltimore.

I fidgeted in the backseat beside Pastor Jim. I could barely contain the nervous energy that had been building since we had left Blue Earth. It had been one hell of a long day. We had left at six thirty in the morning and now it was after six thirty the next morning. I had practically begged Bobby not to stop but of course he had to; for gas and food and pee breaks which had taken up precious time… and let's not forget the traffic.

More often than not I was the one yelling at the other drivers to get the fuck out of the road while Pastor Jim just shook his head and Bobby tried to keep from yelling at me.

I'll admit that I was exhausted by the time we passed the sign proclaiming the town of Strathmore was just miles away but sleep was the last thing on my mind.

I knew the hunters were tired too but they didn't say anything.

Bobby parked in downtown Strathmore- a tiny little place with a dozen shops and restaurants- and we all got out of the car, stretching our limbs.

No one was on the road at this time and it gave the town a deserted feel.

"How do we know where Sam is?" I asked as I watched Bobby take three handguns from the trunk and pass them to the other hunters.

"We don't but we'll look around for any abandoned buildings and such," Rufus answered and slipped his gun into the waistband of his jeans, moving his coat so that it concealed the weapon.

W

It took us about twenty minutes to realize that there was no way the four of us could scour the downtown area. Although it was small, there were many more places around the town my brother could be. I was sure I was going to end up grinding my teeth to dust if we didn't find Sam soon. My jaw ached from being clenched so tight.

All I could think was: It's too late, we're not going to find him or he'll be dead and it will be too late, too late, too late.

I felt Pastor Jim's hand on my shoulder, "we won't stop looking, Dean."

"How's about we split up?" Bobby suggested, "Dean and I'll go and search the residential area and you and Rufus stay in town."

"Alright," Pastor Jim said and Rufus nodded, "We'll call if we find anything."

"Same," Bobby said and the old hunter and I got back into the Oldsmobile.

Bobby and I spent two hours scouring every inch of every abandoned or condemned house we found on the outskirts of the town.

There was one last house we hadn't checked but I wasn't going to get my hopes up. The house looked relatively new, even if it was virtually in the middle of nowhere.

We walked up to the front door and Bobby tried the knob. It turned.

The old hunter put a finger to his lips and opened the door. Carefully we walked inside- I could see a kitchen on my left and a living room on the right. I saw wood and glass and china sprayed all over the floor in the living room from a cabinet or something that had fallen over.

Picture frames on the walls were cracked.

"Look at this," Bobby said and I followed his gaze to the kitchen where it seemed every drawer or cupboard had been emptied of its contents, silverware and ceramic plates and bowls, glass cups lay strewn and smashed on the linoleum tiles.

"What do you think happened?" I asked.

"Looks like the work of a poltergeist I saw once," Bobby muttered and I stared at him. Ghosts were real now too?

"Let's check upstairs," I suggested and Bobby nodded, taking his gun out as he did in every house we had entered.

The stairs creaked as we made our way onto the second floor. Picture frames along the walls had received the same treatment as the ones in the living room.

Bobby and I checked and double checked every room- the master and guest bedroom, the bathroom, the study.

"Damn it Bobby!" I breathed as we made our way back down to the main floor.

"Now don't give up just yet," Bobby answered, "we still have to check the basement."

Both the hunter and I turned and looked down the hallway leading to the cellar. My heart began to beat fiercely in my chest. This was it. The last place Sam could be and a part of me hoped that I would not find him locked up in the basement.

Bobby and I made our way down the hallway and opened the basement door. There was a set of wooden stairs leading into a large main room. I reached up and flicked on the light switch.

There was another room beyond the main one. This one had a door that looked pretty heavy duty- like something you'd use to keep someone out… or someone in.

My mouth grew dry and I moved first, taking the steps carefully and slowly.

Bobby stepped up beside me, placed a hand on my arm for a moment and then unlocked the door.

What was going to be in there? Sam? I hoped it was Sam. I hoped it wasn't Sam. I hoped that I was just having some really long, insane dream.

Bobby pushed the door open and the first thing that hit me was the smell. I almost gagged as the stench of blood and piss and feces wafted from the room. My eyes watered and I forced myself not to take a step backwards.

Bobby looked pale but he didn't show any other reaction. I placed my arm across my nose and tried to breathe through my mouth.

I took the first cautious step into the room. It was pretty dark; the only illumination came from a single yellow bulb.

"Sam?" I called softly and coughed as the foul air took up all the clean oxygen in the room.

Bobby took a little flashlight from his pocket and shone it around the room. The floor was cement, the walls were red bricks, and the ceiling had a huge crack in it.

The hunter swung the flashlight around and the light caught something.

"Bobby!" I cried and approached the figure. The hunter trained the light on the person.

I got down on my knees. The poor guy was laying in a heap, covered in blood and gore. I saw rope trailing from his clenched fists, his hands were tied together!

Slowly I reached out and touched the figure's face.

"Careful Dean," I heard Bobby whisper from behind me.

I turned the figure's face so I could see his features better and my heart dropped into my stomach.

"No, Sammy," I moaned. Heat was coming off him in waves and the smell of sickness mixed with the rest of the stench in the room.

I got my hands under my brother's motionless form and picked him up. He weighed almost nothing at all it seemed.

Bobby went ahead of us and I tried not to look too closely at my brother's injuries.

We stumbled out of the house and into the early morning light.

"I've gotta blanket in the trunk we can wrap around 'im," Bobby said he dug a thick, woolen tartan from the trunk of the Oldsmobile.

I got into the back of the car first and then with Bobby's help, laid Sam's head on my lap and made him as comfortable as possible on the bench seat. The hunter draped the blanket over Sam, tucking in the corners.

Bobby ran around the car and hopped into the driver's seat. He didn't bother calling Rufus and Pastor Jim; we could pick them up on the way.

Sam's eyes were tightly closed, his face smeared with blood and sweat and snot. I brushed some stringy, sticky hair away from his forehead.

"It's okay Sammy, you're safe now. I'm going to take care of you," I whispered to my brother, "I'm never going to let anything hurt you."

Bobby swerved into downtown Strathmore to the surprised looks of the just-woken townsfolk.

The hunter caught sight of Pastor Jim and Rufus, in a side street, just coming out of what looked like an abandoned stripper joint.

The car jerked forward as Bobby slammed on the brakes and I wrapped my arms protectively around my brother.

"Git in the car!" The two hunters didn't need to be asked twice. Rufus took the front passenger seat and the Pastor took the back, Sam's leg across his lap.

"What in the hell happened Bobby?" Rufus complained, "thought you were gonna call us if anything came up!"

"Didn't have time Rufus," Bobby answered, "the boy's in a bad way."

"Where are we going? Sam needs a hospital," I piped up.

"Baltimore," Bobby said, "It'll have the nearest large hospital."

W

Two hours later Pastor Jim and I were carrying Sam from the car to the front doors of Baltimore's Johns Hopkins Hospital.

"Hey! We need help out here!" I shouted as the Pastor and I walked through the sliding doors, trying not to jar my unconscious brother and cause further damage.

A bunch of nurses ran toward us, an orderly followed close behind with a gurney. Patients and visitors alike stopped to stare at us.

The hospital staff carefully took my brother from my arms and laid him on the gurney. As they made their way deeper into the hospital I thought nothing of following, blanket trailing limply from my hands.

The group of nurses surrounding Sam disappeared behind a pair of double doors and I tried to follow.

A hand on my chest stopped me.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go in there," a thin, wiry nurse said.

"But he's my brother, he needs me," I protested and tried to side-step the woman and go through the doors Sam had vanished behind.

"Your brother's in good hands, I assure you. You need to calm down sir," the nurse said and I felt Pastor Jim put a hand on my shoulder.

"Come here, son," the Pastor said and guided me to the spacious waiting room and made sure I sat down on one of the dark red cushioned chairs.

Day 1 (12:00 PM to 1:00 PM)

I didn't sit for long. Soon I was up and pacing around the room, earning stares from the other families.

Bobby and Rufus came and found us not long after Pastor Jim and I had taken a seat.

"Sam's in there," I pointed to the double doors, looking morose.

"They're gonna help him," Bobby assured me.

"Yeah," I muttered. God, I wished this wasn't happening.

"Okay, listen carefully, Dean: Bobby and I are FBI. Pastor Jim's a friend of the family…" Rufus instructed.

I just nodded and listened as Bobby and Rufus continued to coach me on what to say, what not to say, etc. but all I could think about was Sam. How he was so damn close and now that I might lose him again.

Jim left us and came back five minutes later with two cups of coffee.

"What? You couldn't get us any?" Bobby asked as the Pastor handed one of the cups to me and kept the second for himself.

Pastor Jim just smiled, "you're Feds. Dean here is a dear friend."

Bobby glowered for a moment but then sighed and wiped a hand over his face.

"I'm gonna check us into a motel," he said, "You okay to stay here, Rufus?"

"Yup," the black hunter took a seat beside Jim and crossed his legs.

I stood and began pacing. Walking past Jim and Rufus, glancing at the double doors every so often.

All I wanted was something, some little tidbit of news that Sam was going to make it. Bobby had taken the blanket with him when he left, folding it up carefully but I could see that it was ruined: smeared with blood and God knew what else.

When I finished the coffee that Jim brought I wandered to the cafeteria myself and poured some more liquid energy. I thought briefly about grabbing a sandwich to munch on while I waited but then the memory of what that basement room smelled like made me change my mind.

Sam had looked so thin, felt so frail in my arms that I wanted to burst into helpless, angry tears but I held back my emotions, told myself to act like this was just another day at Utica PD- I forced my mind to detach itself from the fact that it had been my brother in that fucking hellhole of a cellar, beaten and bloody and possibly on the verge of death. I told myself that the doctors here knew what they were doing, that Sam was at one of the best hospitals in the country, one of the best hospitals in the world and that he was in good hands now.

I made my way back over to Pastor Jim and Rufus. The Pastor put a hand on my arm, trying to comfort.

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" I asked Rufus.

The hunter shook his head, "nuthin' and I've seen some pretty bad shit in my days."

That didn't sit well. I sighed and picked up some magazine, a tabloid concerned with the lives of the rich and famous and all the lame-ass things people thought was important: who's breaking up with whom, who's cheating on whom, who's pregnant, who look dumpy without their makeup, etc.

W

Bobby returned, "Got us a couple of rooms at a quiet motel in case we're here awhile."

I was watching one of the muted televisions that were supposed to distract families from the fact that their loved ones were in the hospital. There was a sequence about tourism in Baltimore and I couldn't help but smile to myself.

"What is it, Dean?" Bobby asked.

"Sam would be so excited to be here," I answered, not looking away from the screen.

"Why?" Bobby asked, confused.

"Poe. Sam loves Edgar Allen Poe. He's read all the guy's poems and stories, knows 'The Raven' off by heart," I said.

"Huh, well it looks like yer brother got thrown into one of Edgar Allen's stories," Bobby commented and I shrugged.

Day 1 (2:00PM to 5:00PM)

More cafeteria coffee. This time Bobby and Rufus also had some. I offered to get a cup for Pastor Jim but he refused saying that he'd find some tea later.

Bobby was talking quietly with Pastor Jim.

I thought about the grizzled hunter from South Dakota- Jimmy had called while we had been searching for Sam. He had found out some information about the hunter. There was nothing really that stood out about the man:

He had been born and raised in Sioux Falls, his father had been a mechanic and a drunk, and his mother had been a non-practicing Protestant. When Bobby was twelve years old his mother ran away with the Postman, yeah, that's right, the Postman, leaving the young boy whit his abusive father. On the eve of Bobby's seventeenth birthday Daddy Dearest dropped dead of a heart attack and after that the young Singer lived alone.

Bobby's wife, Karen, as the reports claim, died of self inflicted knife wounds. There was no serious investigation involved and no one questioned the suicide story. After that Bobby's life was pretty tame according to the records- ran his salvage yard fixing cars and scraping what he could, took odd amounts of time off though (for hunting, I knew) but he was clean-cut as well as criminals go.

Jimmy had asked me when I was coming back, again, said that there was a rumor going around that I'd been transferred to New Mexico. I told Jimmy again that I had not been transferred and I wasn't exactly sure when I would be returning. Jimmy had asked what was wrong; picking up my emotions in my voice.

Don't worry about it; I had told him, I'll let you know later. Jimmy hadn't pressed the issue and I hung up the phone first.

"Dean? You okay, son?" Bobby's voice jarred me from my thoughts.

"Oh, yeah, I guess I'm okay," I said lamely.

"Why don't I drive you to the motel and you can get some rest, you look like you need it," Bobby suggested, "I could call ya if anything comes up."

I shook my head, "no. No thanks, I want to stay here until the doctor comes and tells us… something."

"Alright," Bobby said and didn't ask me to go to the motel again.

I watched blankly as people walked to and fro past us- doctors, nurses, orderlies, patients, and family members either joyful, relieved or in tears.

As it grew later I looked up whenever it looked like a doctor was walking in our direction- only to be disappointed.

A few times I thought about going through those double doors, just to get a glimpse of my brother or maybe ask a nurse about his condition, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to get us thrown out of the hospital.

I looked over and saw that Pastor Jim was leaning back in his chair, his hands folded over his chest and his eyes closed- I wasn't sure if he was sleeping or not.

I sighed. I was tired and I could really have used the rest but I kept telling myself that I needed to be awake when the doctor came to tell us about Sam, as though the guy would walk away if I was asleep.

Rufus went back to the motel to get some shut eye. I really wanted to be able to just distance myself from this and go and collapse in some motel bed but I couldn't. I couldn't. I couldn't.

"No news is good news, Dean," Bobby said as he sipped his second cup of coffee. I was on my third, or fourth, no maybe it was my fifth.

I was trying to decide what to do when Sam woke up. I didn't want to take him back to Utica- I would have to explain what had happened to Dad and I wasn't prepared for that. I wasn't going to take him back to Alexander's anytime soon, no matter what Dr. Calhoun thought.

Just wait and decide what to do when the doctor comes, I thought. The doctor couldn't have come soon enough.

I was getting antsy again and started pacing around the waiting room.

"I'm gonna grab something to eat, you want anything?" Bobby asked as he stood.

I shook my head. Eating was the last thing on my mind.

Bobby shrugged and disappeared down the hall that led to the cafeteria.

Pastor Jim woke up, or appeared to since he just opened his eyes and stretched.

"Any news?" He asked.

I shook my head, "not yet."

I sat back down beside the Pastor. Jim looked sympathetically at me and ran a hand through his graying hair.

"Your brother is safe now, that's the only thing that matters," Jim said and leaned back in his chair again.

Yeah, Sam was safe. There were no demons to get him here. The doctors would heal him and then we'd… well, I didn't really know what we'd do once Sam was okay again but leave Maryland, maybe go back home. Maybe Sam could stay with me from now on. I hoped so.

Day 1 (5:00PM to 8:00PM)

I had had enough of waiting. I had been sitting in that goddamn chair for long enough with no news about my brother and I was both worried sick and pissed off.

I got up casually as though I was just going to pace around the room again, and that is what I started to do before I slipped through the double doors and walked down the hall looking for my brother.

"Excuse me sir, you're not supposed to be in here," a soft, feminine voice said behind me and I turned to see the tiny nurse who had kicked me out the first time.

"Please, I just want to know if my brother's okay," I said.

"I'm afraid you'll have to go back to the waiting room," the nurse instructed.

"His name's Sam. Sam Winchester," I continued, "I just want to know if he's going to be alright."

"Sir, you'll have to go back to the waiting room and a doctor will see you as soon as possible," she said, unperturbed.

"But, goddamn it! Why won't you tell me anything?" I exclaimed and the nurse looked uneasy.

"Please, sir," the nurse urged, "the waiting room."

I sighed, ran a hand through my hair, "okay, okay, I'm going."

I couldn't help but sound defeated. Although these were health care professionals I was at their mercy and they wouldn't tell me diddly squat until they were good and ready.

Bobby raised an eyebrow as I stepped back into the waiting room, double doors swinging behind me.

I sat back down and didn't say anything to the hunter. Rufus had replaced Pastor Jim who was taking his turn getting some much needed sleep at the motel.

"That's a good way to get your ass kicked out onto the pavement," Rufus commented.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks Rufus," I grumbled.

W

Bobby got us all something to eat; sandwiches from the cafeteria. I wasn't really hungry and had only a few bites of my generic turkey and Swiss.

It grew dark outside and still no doctor came to see us.

Maybe they've forgotten about us, I thought.

The waiting room grew more and more deserted until it was only Bobby, Pastor Jim returned from his nap, Rufus and I.

I think I had flipped through all the magazines available and sat tapping my fingers on the arm of my chair nervously.

Surely they'd have some information for us soon.

A commotion started near one of the entrances and I saw Paramedics and nurses rushing a young woman through the double doors Sam had gone through earlier. I didn't get a good look at the victim but my best guess was a car accident.

"Dean, walk with me for a few minutes, would you?" Pastor Jim asked and he led me down a hallway to a small chapel.

We stepped inside and I saw the a dozen wooden pews, the altar and a stained glass window depicting the Resurrected Christ and immediately turned around.

"Oh no, Jim," I protested.

"Just sit and think Dean," Pastor Jim said, "you don't even have to pray. Just relax for a little bit."

I grumbled but complied, sitting in one of the back pews, legs stretched out and arms over the backrest.

"That's looks comfortable," Pastor Jim pointed out.

"What? You said I could just sit and think," I said innocently.

Pastor Jim gave me a patronizing look and I rearranged my position to one more dignified.

The Pastor took a seat on the same pew as me, a little ways down so we were not right beside each other. He bent his head, clasped his hands and I could hear him muttering what must have been prayers.

I stared at the stained glass window for a while, stared at the depiction of Jesus- clothed in a long white robe; arms outstretched; a mild, compassionate expression on his face; a nimbus of gold encircling his head like a halo, his brown hair flowing freely and his blue eyes held kindness.

I felt slightly awkward being in a chapel and just sitting there like an idiot so I bowed my head, closed my eyes and murmured the only prayer I knew:

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil," I paused. He hadn't delivered my brother from evil.

"For the kingdom, the power and the glory are Yours now and forever… Amen," I finished and looked up, feeling a little better.

I glanced at Pastor Jim and saw that he had been watching me, smiling.

The door of the chapel slammed open and Bobby stared at us, breathing fast and his face red.

"There's a doctor come to talk to you about Sam," the hunter said and both Pastor Jim and I burst out of the chapel as though we had just experienced an epiphany.

Pastor Jim, Bobby and I rushed back to the waiting room to find a short, fat doctor talking to Rufus who had his fake FBI badge out.

"Here he is now," the hunter said and the doctor turned to me.

He had pasty skin, a bulbous nose and thin lips. His eyes were pale blue and quiet large, giving the doc a surprised look.

"Mr. Winchester? I'm Dr. Campion," he held out a plump, sweaty hand for me to shake. I ignored it.

"I want to know what that bitch did to my brother," I snarled. Not angry at the doctor, really, just annoyed that it had taken so long for him to see me. No, the person I was really enraged at, the person who I didn't think I'd hesitate to kill if I had the chance was Meg Masters.

Day 1 (8:00PM to 9:45PM)

The doctor cleared his throat, "perhaps we could talk somewhere more private."

I nodded and the five of us headed down the hall to an empty exam room.

Nobody sat at either of the two chairs provided or on the exam table itself.

Although I had first mistook for nerves in this Dr. Campion, it turned out he was just arrogant- probably drank too much when he got back to his mansion and spent more time in this hospital than outside or with his family.

"Your brother sustained some very grievous injuries," Dr. Campion began.

"But he's going to be okay, right?" I asked anxiously.

"That remains to be seen," Dr. Campion sniffed and I felt an urge to punch him in his perfect, bleached teeth.

I glowered and crossed my arms.

"I gave your brother a sedative so he'd be able to sleep and some morphine to help with the pain," Dr. Campion said and I didn't feel so angry at him anymore.

"He is also on antibiotics- the last thing we want is for him to develop an infection," the doc continued.

"So, when can I see him?" I wanted to know.

"I'm afraid you cannot at the present time. Your brother is in isolation. His immune system is very weak right now and even the puniest of germs could cause devastating effects," the doctor informed me.

I frowned but didn't say anything.

"What is the extent of his injuries, Doctor?" Pastor Jim asked.

At this the doctor shook his head, his colourless hair shifting slightly with the motion and I saw a very real, very human look of horror on his face.

"Your brother sustained multiple fractured ribs- none punctured any vital organs, but there was some internal bleeding," he said quietly as though afraid to be relaying this information to me.

"There was also a fracture to his left wrist," the doctor paused for a moment and continued, "a number of his fingers were also broken as well."

I felt Pastor Jim's hand on my shoulder and it was only then that I realized that I was shaking.

I gulped and nodded to the doctor to continue.

"There were bruises that indicate that he was beaten," now the doctor paused and it looked like he was trying to gather himself for what he was going to say next.

"Your brother has numerous lacerations- the worst being on his back- and there are indications that he was burned at one point as well."

I didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. I felt my gag reflex go and for a second I thought I was going to throw up right there in front of Pastor Jim and Bobby and Rufus and this doctor. But I didn't, thank God; I just sank to the floor with a groan.

I could hear Dr. Campion talking to Pastor Jim as the holy man put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I staggered to my feet on my own.

"Is he... is he in pain?" I asked.

The doctor shook his head, "the morphine and sedative should be keeping him calm and comfortable."

"Okay," I said weakly.

"We are doing everything we can to help your brother, Mr. Winchester," Dr. Campion said.

After that he left the four of us alone, to go check on Sam or another patient I guessed and the three hunters stared at me with sad faces.

"He'll be okay," I said with more conviction than I felt, "he's a strong kid, he'll pull through."

Bobby nodded, "I'm sure he will."

"Well, there's nuthin' more we can do here tonight, y'all want to head to the motel and get some rest?" Rufus asked and I shook my head.

"I want to stay in case… anything happens," I said.

In case Sam doesn't make it, I thought but didn't say the words out loud, lest they ring too true.

"Alright, if you want to," Bobby said, "just call us if something's up or if yer tired."

"Sure," I answered and sat down once more in a waiting room chair.

It was going to be a long night.

Day 1 (9:45 PM to 2:30 AM)

I made my way over to the nurses' station and got a bunch of papers that I'd have to fill out eventually. I sat with the papers on my lap, a blue pen scribbling the answers to a slew of medical questions. I wrote slowly

I contemplated calling up my father, telling him that Sam was in the hospital, let him know that his youngest son… might not make it.

But… what was I going to tell Dad? The truth? Not likely. Some semblance of the truth most likely but still I felt uncomfortable with the idea of having that conversation with my father.

I watched as doctors and nurses walked past, patients were ushered back to their rooms, a man and woman around the same age as my own parents came hurrying in and were led down the hall through the double doors- the mother and father of the car accident victim probably.

I grabbed some cafeteria coffee again and sat back down, flipping through a magazine I had already looked at before.

There was no clock in the waiting room but I had my cell phone and my wristwatch. The minutes seemed to take hours to slip by, the hours taking an eternity.

I wouldn't leave though, I wasn't going to some comfy, warm motel room knowing that my brother was stuck in a stark hospital room, heavily medicated and sedated.

I think I dozed off a couple of times but I always woke with a start, ready to fight and wishing I had my gun with me.

The accident victim's parents came out and sat in the waiting room. They looked tearful but relieve- their daughter was going to be okay.

I wished I knew the same about Sam. The couple put their heads close together and spoke softly. I got up and went in search of more coffee. My eyes felt gritty as sand and like they were weighted down with rocks. I stifled a yawn and poured some more coffee in my cup.

I shuffled back to the waiting room and saw that the couple was still there, sitting side by side, the man had his arm around his wife's shoulders.

I gulped down the cup of joe and rubbed at my eyes. The staff had dimmed the lights and it was making me sleepy.

Damn gotta stay awake; I thought and tried to find something to entertain myself with. I stared at the TV, watching the silent pictures flicker across the screen.

I got up once again and restlessly walked round and round the waiting room.

"Excuse me? Why don't you sit with us, son?" I turned and looked at the man who had spoken.

It was the father of the accident victim.

"Oh, I don't want to interrupt," I said.

"Nonsense, you look like you need the company," the woman answered.

I awkwardly made my way over to the couple and sat down across from them.

"I'm Ethan and this is my wife, Hannah," the man said. He had a long, thin, beaklike nose, high cheekbones, light brown eyes and graying dark brown hair.

His wife, Hannah, had light brown hair and grey-green eyes. She had a short, stub nose and full lips.

"Our daughter, Nina, was in an… accident… a drunk driver hit her at an intersection…" Ethan explained.

I nodded, "my brother's here."

Ethan and Hannah nodded in sympathy.

"Are you from the area?" Hannah asked.

"No, we came here because… of this hospital…it's one of the best, isn't it?" I said quickly.

Ethan nodded, "it is."

"How old is your brother?" Hannah asked.

I told them.

The couple brightened, "our Nina's the same age! She goes to UB; she wants to be an architect."

I smiled politely. I didn't really want to be telling these people about Sam.

"Where are you from originally?" Ethan asked.

"Utica, New York. I work there as a cop," I answered.

We continued to talk about mundane, simple things as the hours wore on. Ethan and Hannah told me all about their daughter and I evaded questions concerning my brother.

After a while the couple left, returning home I guessed and I was alone in the waiting room.

Maybe I should call Bobby to come pick me up, I thought, I'm not doing any good here and at least I'd be able to get some decent rest at the motel.

No. Stay here. Sam might need you, I argued. Need me for what? He was unconscious, asleep, dreaming morphine induced dreams most likely.

There was nothing I could do for Sam anyway, I wasn't a nurse or a doctor and right now I felt like pretty shitty brother to let him get kidnapped by a creature that wasn't supposed to even exist!

He probably hates me, I thought, I would. I could imagine my brother lying cold and hungry and in pain in that cellar, wondering where I was and why I wasn't coming to rescue him.

I quickly brushed my hand across my eyes. Get a grip, Dean. You did what you could, the only thing you could do. Bobby and Rufus and Jim found Sam. They found him. Alive. Probably better than any regular cop or FBI agent could. Sam's safe now. Nothing bad is going to happen to him while he's here. The doctors and nurses will take care of him and pretty soon you'll be able to take him home.

Day 2 (9:30 AM to 10:30AM)

I awoke to someone gently touching my shoulder, "sir, sir, it's morning. Did you sleep here overnight?"

I opened my eyes to see a small nurse of Vietnamese descent.

I straightened up in the chair and mumbled embarrassedly to her.

The nurse gave me a smile and said that the cafeteria would open in a half hour so I could get some breakfast.

"Thanks," I said and raked a hand through my hair.

"Oh, hey, do you know anything about my brother? His name's Sam Winchester, he was admitted yesterday into the ICU," I asked.

The nurse shook her head, "sorry sir. I work in Urology."

"Okay, thanks anyway," I muttered and wished there was someone I could talk to about Sam.

I walked a few laps around the waiting room to get the feeling back in my legs and feet. I felt exhausted and thought it was from having to sleep in a hospital, cramped in an uncomfortable chair and worrying over my brother.

I didn't have to wait until ten o'clock to get breakfast because twenty minutes after I woke up the three hunters entered the waiting room. Pastor Jim carried a McDonald's take-out bag and a tray with drinks in it.

"How'd you sleep?" Rufus asked.

"Like a baby," I lied and took one of the drinks.

Jim opened the bag and handed me a yellow paper-wrapped Sausage McMuffin.

"Thanks," I mumbled as I wolfed down the hot, greasy fast food and gulped down the coffee.

"Any news on your brother?" Jim asked.

I shook my head, "maybe this morning."

The Pastor nodded and we fell into silence, chewing our breakfasts and sipping at our coffees.

Slowly the hospital came to life around us, bustling nurses and doctors strode past without a glance our way, patients and visitors came and went.

The four of us waited anxiously for any news of Sam.

Dr. Campion came to see us just as we had finished eating. He greeted us in a friendly manner.

"I've just been checking your brother's charts and his fever is going down," the doc informed us.

"That's good, isn't it?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, but Sam is far from out of the woods yet," Dr. Campion said, "when he came in he was severely dehydrated and it was clear he hadn't eaten any substantial in a long while. He's on IV fluids right now."

"Has he woken up yet?" Pastor Jim asked.

"Not yet, but you shouldn't be too worried, it's the best thing for him right now to let his body rest and have a chance to recover," the doctor assured us, rubbing his hands together not unlike a raccoon washing its paws.

"Can we see him?" I interrupted before anyone else could ask a question.

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester but we are still worried about your brother's immune system, it may take as long as a week to get it up to par," The doctor shook his head, "or even longer if his fever continues."

"Okay," I muttered disappointed.

"I will give you another update in the afternoon," Dr. Campion said and walked away.

I turned to the hunters, "why didn't he say anything about them starving Sam or him being dehydrated yesterday? Didn't he think I'd like to know? Wouldn't that be important to tell me?"

"He probably didn't want to give you too much bad news all at once," Rufus suggested.

I grumbled. I didn't like the idea of Dr. Campion not telling me information on Sam's condition- if he didn't tell me about that, what else wasn't he telling me?

Day 5 (11:00 AM to 2:00 PM)

I had spent the last two days going back and forth between the hospital and the motel room. Bobby had finally coaxed me to the motel room bed on the second night when I was on the verge of collapse from lack of sleep. While I slept one of the hunters stayed at the hospital after promising to call if they had any news on Sam.

My brother still had yet to wake up and although that worried me, Dr. Campion assured me that this was good that Sam was getting the rest his body needed

I had just rolled out of bed and was considering which clothes were clean enough to wear when Pastor Jim came into the room carrying breakfast and coffee.

"Thanks, Jim," I said and took the offered breakfast after choosing a pair of black jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt.

I had become somewhat more comfortable with the hunters in the past few days and the Pastor discreetly turned around as I slipped my jeans over my boxers and exchanged my sleep shirt for the green one.

"Are Bobby and Rufus awake yet?" I asked as I pulled at the laces of my boots.

"Is the Pope a Catholic?" Pastor Jim smiled.

I laughed and grabbed my coffee and stepped out of the motel room to into the bright, warm morning.

The ride to the hospital was quiet. I was prepared for disappointment again, ready for Dr. Campion to tell me that I couldn't see Sam, not looking forward to another long day in the waiting room.

As soon as we stepped through the doors and before we even sat down in the now too familiar red-cushioned chairs a nurse came scurrying over.

"Dean Winchester?" she asked urgently.

"Yes?" I answered.

The nurse smiled, "Dr. Campion would like me to take you to see Sam."

My mouth fell open, "really?!"

"Mmmhmm," she chuckled at my response and began walking toward the double doors.

"We'll stay here," Bobby said.

I turned around, "oh no you don't. You guys helped rescue Sam. You're not ducking out that easily."

"We just thought that you'd like some privacy, Dean," Pastor Jim explained.

"I can kick you guys out when he wakes up but right now I want you with me," I said, a little sheepishly.

The four of us followed the nurse down the long hallway of the ICU. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest and I felt nervous.

What's the problem? It's just Sam, I thought.

No, it's not just him…it'll be someone else, I corrected myself. No one could go through what he must have without changing.

The nurse came to a halt at the end of the hall, the last room on the left. She opened the door and gestured for me to enter.

I ducked inside and gasped. This poor creature could hardly be my brother. The boy was surrounded by beeping machines, an IV pole sat beside the large bed.

The boy was deathly pale even against the white bed sheets. I stepped closer and felt a lump form painfully in my throat. The boy's dark brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and over the scent of bleach and antiseptic I could smell sickness.

"Sammy," I whispered and collapsed in the chair for visitors.

I turned and saw the three hunters standing in the doorway as though awaiting permission to enter the room.

"I'm so sorry Sammy," I mumbled and slowly the hunters entered the room and gathered around the foot of the bed.

Now that the blood had been washed away I could see Sam's injuries in detail. There was gauze on the side of his head, protecting a wound there, maybe from the accident or his captors I didn't know. His face was thin, narrow, his cheekbones more prominent than usual. I could see small cuts and bruises on his face. His eyes were closed and sunken, surrounded by dark circles. There was a cast on Sam's left wrist where it rested on the bed covers, three of his fingers and his thumb in splints. I reached out but then hesitated. I wanted to touch my brother, to let him know that I was there but I didn't want to hurt him.

I settled for laying my hand alongside his uninjured right one. I could feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes but I didn't wipe them away.

I clenched my hands into fists, "I'm gonna kill her. I'm gonna kill her for what she's done to Sammy."

Pastor Jim cleared his throat and I looked over at the hunters.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"Don't have to apologize, Dean," Rufus rumbled.

"What was the point of this? Why kidnap him and torture him and then, leave him?" I asked, "Just for fun? Just demons having a good time?"

Bobby shrugged, "Dunno. Maybe, maybe not."

"Dean, let us deal with the demon, all you have to worry about is Sam," Pastor Jim said.

I glanced at my brother's sleeping form, "yeah, okay. I could do that."

W

I stayed with Sam, just to let him know I was there for him. I talked to him, telling him quirky little stories, things that had made him laugh when we were kids.

The constant prickling of tears was always there as I listened to the heart monitor state its rhythmic opinion. A nurse came in to change the bag of IV fluid and then left again, before giving me a sympathetic look.

"Don't worry Sammy, you're going to get strong again," I said after the nurse left.

The three hunters had retreated from the room but I didn't notice that until later.

"I'm going to protect you, hear me? I'm never going to let anything bad hurt you again," I muttered to my brother.

I reached out with a trembling hand and brushed some of Sam's hair away from his brow. I could see a scratch near his temple, nothing serious but I felt a warm tear leak down my face.

As I sat there, blinking through vision blurred by moisture, I saw a flash of green on my brother's otherwise pallid face.

I knuckled the tears away and stared at Sam's features closely. There it was again! His eyes opened a fraction of an inch! It wasn't much but it was surely something.

I fumbled for the call button and didn't take my gaze away from my brother's face as slowly his dazed, glazed green eyes opened and struggled to focus.

Day 5 (2:00 PM to 6:00 PM)

"Sam? Sammy!" I said quietly, not wanting to startle my brother.

A young male nurse came running.

"Get Dr. Campion!" I demanded and turned back to Sam.

His eyes focused on me but he still looked confused.

I touched his uninjured hand, "it's okay Sammy, its okay, you're safe."

"Wh- wha-" the words came out barely above a whisper, quavering.

"Shh," I said, "don't try and talk right now."

I looked up when I heard footsteps coming down the hall and Dr. Campion barreled into the room followed by a couple of nurses.

The doctor pushed me aside and took out a small light and shone it right in Sam's face. I could see my brother shrink away from the man.

"Hey! You're scaring him!" I said and pulled on the doctor's arm, "don't do that."

"Nurse, escort Mr. Winchester out of the room for a moment," Dr. Campion said and one of the women began pulling me gently toward the door.

"D- De- Dean!" I heard Sam's voice, hoarse and cracking as he called out to me.

I roughly shrugged off the nurse and moved to my brother's side.

"Mr. Winchester!" Dr. Campion snapped.

I felt the nurse grab hold of my elbow and begin pulling me away from Sam.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam called out, not at all loudly but full of fear and longing.

My brother began to flail as though trying to sit up and I saw the second nurse fill a needle with clear liquid from a phial.

"He'll calm down if I'm with him, don't give him a sedative," I begged the doctor.

I could almost see the gears in Campion's mind working as he considered my request.

"Alright, but don't interrupt," he said and ushered me closer. I sat back down beside my brother, now calm once he realized I wasn't going to leave.

"He's not going to hurt you, Sammy, okay?" I said and gripped his uninjured hand.

My brother seemed to understand even in his confused state and allowed the doctor to shine the light in his eyes, checked and double checked the heart rate monitor.

"Can the nurses change the bandages?" Dr. Campion asked in a way that told me he didn't like to ask his patients' permission concerning medical tasks.

I looked at Sam, his eyes were half closed but he was still awake somewhat, "yeah."

Dr. Campion he would come back in a few hours to check Sam's vitals again.

The nurse, a strong looking middle-aged woman with a nametag that read 'Marlene' looked at me with a sad expression for a moment and said that I might want to leave the room.

I thought about it and I looked at Sam.

"I'm just going to be in the hallway," I told him, "I'm not going anywhere."

My brother looked frightened for a moment and then nodded.

I closed the door after myself and leaned against the wall.

While the nurses were tending to Sam I quietly slipped down the hallway and peered through the double doors, saw the three hunters lounging on in waiting room chairs and motioned quickly to them.

Bobby opened the door, "what is it Dean? Did something happen?"

"Sam's awake, Bobby! He's still pretty out of it but he finally woke up!" I exclaimed.

The hunters' broke out in identical grins, "c'mon. I want you to see him."

I knew that my brother was still confused and introductions were probably not the best thing right now but I wanted the hunters to be with me.

Twenty-five minutes past until the door opened and the nurses made their way out. I peered into the room; Sam looked the same as when I had left him, only with fresh bandages.

I crept up to the bed and sat down on the chair. Sam had his eyes closed and his breathing was a little bit shallow and fast paced.

"Hey, Sammy," I whispered and his green eyes flicked open and sought me out.

Sam didn't speak, didn't look anywhere but at my face and I put my hand on his uninjured one. Trembling fingers gripped my wrist tightly and didn't let go for a long time.

I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, "I told you I wasn't going to leave you, Sammy."

My brother didn't even notice the other three figures in the room but I didn't worry, there would be time for introductions later when Sam was feeling up to it.

I didn't know how long I sat there, Sam's thin fingers gripping my wrist before I felt them go slack and I looked up to see his eyes were closed. I turned quickly to the heart monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He was just sleeping. I silently admonished myself for nearly freaking out for no reason.

I carefully extracted my arm from my brother's hand and stood, stretching.

"You want something to eat?" Bobby asked.

"Thanks… and… maybe some more coffee?" I asked sheepishly.

Bobby rumbled a laugh and he left the room.

"I think Sam's going to be okay," I told Jim and Rufus.

Rufus nodded but Jim hummed and looked at my brother worriedly.

"What's wrong?" I asked the Pastor.

"Your brother still has a long way to go before he'll be healthy again," he said, "this isn't just going to sort itself out overnight."

"I know that," I said without animosity.

"That's good," Jim commented.

"I just want to take it one day at a time, one victory at a time," I said.

"Do they say that at Alexander's?" Pastor Jim asked and I shrugged.

"Its good advice," Rufus broke in.

"Yeah," I said and at that moment I couldn't see Sam back at Alexander's. I knew how Sam's captivity would likely leave physical scars but those were not the ones I feared, I could deal with those ones, the ones that scared me were the ones I couldn't see, the ones that went far too deep to heal.

Day 6 (5:00 PM to 7:00AM)

Sam still barely spoke. His voice was still hoarse, raspy and quiet. He acknowledged the presence of the three hunters but was very shy around them, his eyes cast downward and he wouldn't speak to them if they asked him something.

I was worried. I was worried what Sam's time as a captive had done to him.

He needs to get out of this hospital, I thought, he's spent more time in these places than anyone should.

I had tried to talk to Dr. Campion about it but the doctor said that Sam was not nearly ready enough to be released.

Released, I thought after the 'good' doctor had walked away to attend to other business, it's like Sam's a prisoner here.

The morphine the doc gave my brother made Sam's memory fuzzy and he could barely remember a topic of conversation five minutes in.

Sam had nightmares. I had stayed with him the first night after he'd woken up, my head leaning against the backrest of the chair, one hand on Sam's bed and the other on my lap when I heard a heartrending cry.

I jumped out of my seat, searching for the source of that horrible and horrified noise when I realized it was coming from my brother.

I didn't want to shake him so I put my face close to his and whispered loudly, "Sammy! Sammy, wake up!"

My brother's eyes had snapped open, "nooooo!"

"Sam, it's okay," I tried again- the last thing I needed was for him to wake up the whole hospital.

I was shocked to see tears streaming down my brother's face and in a last ditch attempt I gripped his uninjured hand in mine.

Sam snatched his hand away as though I was intending to hurt him- break those fingers, maybe- and he actually quieted, his cries stifled to whimpers.

"Oh God Sammy," I muttered as Sam's eyes flickered frantically around the room.

I didn't know what to do so I ran down to the nurses' station.

"My brother's freaking out," I said breathlessly and the nurse followed me to Sam's room.

"I'll get him some sedative," the nurse said after taking one look at Sam and left the room.

I stood awkwardly at the far end of the room; I didn't want to frighten my brother by coming near.

He was whimpering, his eyes wide- dark green with fear- and his entire body rigid.

The nurse came back and quickly injected the sedative into the IV line. Within seconds Sam had fallen silent and his eyes slid shut.

"Thank you," I said gratefully and the nurse nodded and left.

I returned to my seat and brushed my brother's sweaty hair from his face. I settled myself against the backrest but didn't sleep. I stayed awake for the rest of the night, ready if Sam woke from another nightmare.

Day 7 (8:00 AM to 12:00 PM)

The next morning I noticed that the window was cracked, a silvery line ran straight through one pane and right into the other.

I should let the staff know so someone can fix that, I thought and made my way to the cafeteria for some breakfast.

Sam's officially been here for a week, I thought as I sipped my coffee and munched the bagel I had bought.

I couldn't wait to leave. At least I had the option of going to the motel room.

Not that I would, Sam needed me here. The kid was still a wreck, if last night's nightmare was anything to go by, and I wouldn't feel at all comfortable going back to the motel, even for a few hours of sleep.

I ate quickly and headed back to Sam's room. His eyes were open and he was looking for me.

"Hey, Sammy, I'm right here," I said and touched his uninjured hand.

"Dean," Sam sighed.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Okay," Sam murmured and his gaze shifted downward as it so often did.

I nodded. He probably wasn't feeling any pain due to the morphine.

"Sammy," I said, "Sam, I'm so damn sorry all of this happened. It's my fault, we never should have left Sioux Falls, I was an idiot and that almost got you killed-" I began but stopped when I saw the confusion on my brother's face.

"What are you talking about Dean? We've never been to South Dakota? The last thing I remember before… I was at Alexander's… I went to sleep early…" Sam said, still looking very confused.

"You were at Alexander's?" I asked, dumbly.

Oh my God, I thought, something's wrong.

I chuckled awkwardly, "sorry Sammy, I think I uh… sorry."

W

When Dr. Campion came to check on Sam again I asked if we could talk in private.

"If this is about discharging your brother early, Mr. Winchester, he is still far too weak," the doctor said before I could speak.

"No, I trust your judgment on that… but Sam he, uh, well he doesn't remember what happened before he was kidnapped," I explained.

The doctor thought for a moment, "Hm, it's quite likely he lost a chunk of memory due to the blow to the head he received."

"So he's got amnesia?" I asked.

"It's most likely," Dr. Campion nodded, "you should ask your brother questions to make sure other parts of his memory are not missing… if they are then we have a problem."

"Oh okay, yeah, I'll do that," I said and the doctor nodded.

I had some experience with amnesia, some of the victims of crime we interviewed displayed retrograde amnesia where they would lose pre-existing memories, usually as a result of a head trauma- Jimmy and I saw it a lot in car accident victims or even domestic abuse cases.

Just to make sure Sam really did have retrograde amnesia I asked him some simple questions about his activities prior to the kidnapping. He didn't say anything at all about our drive to Sioux Falls, just told me in detail what he'd been doing the day he had been drugged by Meg. As far as Sam knew he had gone to bed in Alexander's in Utica only to wake up in the basement of that abandoned house in Strathmore, Maryland.

He didn't know who Bobby was, which I had been far too preoccupied to notice when I'd introduced the hunters to him. I felt like an idiot. I had assumed Sam remembered Bobby and my brother hadn't asked so I wasn't at all worried. I hadn't noticed because my brother barely spoke to anyone but me anyway.

Wait. Sam didn't remember Sioux Falls. That meant Sam didn't remember all that talk about demons. He didn't remember there was something truly evil out there. He must think he'd been kidnapped by some regular old sicko.

I smiled to myself wanly. There was no way I was going to tell Sam the truth now. I didn't want my brother knowing that there were really monsters out there.

The next time I talked to the hunters I explained Sam's amnesia and told Bobby not to mention anything about demons to my brother.

"But Dean, Sam should know what's out there," Pastor Jim protested.

"No, Jim. Sam shouldn't have to. I am not going to tell him," I argued, "I am not going to dump that on my brother. Not after what he's been though, that wouldn't be fair."

Bobby pursed his lips but said nothing. He wouldn't tell Sam as long as I forbade him to.

"Let Sam think you're friends of mine and nothing more," I said and the three hunters nodded.

Day 10 (4:50 PM to 6:00 PM)

Sam grew stronger slowly. He could now make it to the bathroom and back to his bed, with assistance of course. He was unsteady on his feet and leaned against me for support.

"Beats having to use a bedpan," I said, knowing that it had been embarrassing for my brother to have to use one while he had been too weak to get to the toilet on his own.

Dr. Campion had switched the morphine with a non-opiate, it wasn't as strong a painkiller but it wasn't addictive. I was happy about the change but also concerned when I saw the first vertical line of pain form between my Sam's eyebrows.

"You okay, Sammy?" I had asked worriedly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered but I saw that he had beads of sweat on his forehead.

Sam's wounds were healing slowly and that didn't sit well with the doctor.

"It is probably a result of his immune system being so low," Campion explained but I noticed he had added another set of antibiotics to Sam's large retinue of meds.

Sam took a number of multivitamins, antibiotics and anti-psychosis pills after I'd informed the doctor of his schizophrenia- and they also seemed to help with his nightmares as well which were becoming more and more infrequent.

Campion still had Sam on an IV but he had started giving him some soft food- applesauce and pudding- saying that a little bit at a time wouldn't hurt.

Quietly, cautiously, I had asked my brother what he had been given to eat while captive.

"Bread… and water… a prisoner's rations," Sam had said quietly, not looking at me as he did so.

No wonder Sam was so thin. The more I heard about what this bitch, Meg, had done to my brother the more I wanted to hunt her down and kill her.

Sam rarely spoke about the time he'd spent as a captive and I didn't blame him. I didn't want to hear about it. I only had to look at Sam to see the result.

My brother had been held prisoner for two months; it must have felt like two years, two hundred years to him.

I stayed with my brother almost constantly; I wanted to be there when he needed me.

I ate my meals beside Sam, sitting in the visitor's chair, the small windowsill often covered in discarded coffee cups by the end of the day.

My brother was very nervous about me seeing his healing wounds though. Something I didn't understand. It was almost as if he was ashamed of them when they were not his fault.

If a nurse came to change the bandages, before she even had a chance to speak, Sam would ask me if I would leave the room.

I would work my jaw but do as he asked and wait until the nurse left before re-entering.

Just another psychological scar left from that fucking bitch, I would tell myself as I stood in the hallway impatiently.

The three hunters spent a lot of time with Sam as well. They told stories, made up of course, of how we had met and some adventures we'd been on. I felt bad for lying to Sam but I would not tell him the truth.

Sam thought that we had met each other back in school. He didn't question why the three hunters were so much older than me.

Maybe he knows I'm lying to him and he doesn't mind, I thought, maybe he'd prefer a lie, a tall tale, a yarn to the awful truth.

I couldn't wait to take Sam away from this hospital. I couldn't wait to say 'goodbye' to this room, shake Dr. Campion's hand and put Maryland behind us.

I had talked to the three hunters and Pastor Jim had suggested Sam and I stay in Blue Earth with him while my brother recovered.

I had thought it was a good idea. Blue Earth was a quiet, peaceful community and I knew Sam would be safe under Pastor Jim's roof.

Day 13 (10:30 AM to 12:30 PM)

"I think your brother's well enough to leave," Dr. Campion said and I could have jumped with joy.

"He's still a long way from full recovery but I don't see any reason he couldn't go home," the doctor continued.

"Thank you so much doctor!" I said. After so long in the hospital Sam was finally well enough to leave.

Dr. Campion gave me a stern look, "there are some things I want to go over with you first. I have written a prescription for some antibiotics, vitamins, painkillers and an anti-psychotic that will need to be filled. Also, Sam can't do any strenuous activity for a while yet. Remember to only give your brother soft foods though to start off and later you can gradually give him regular food. I'd advise you to call a nurse to come in every day and change the bandages."

I didn't really care what I had to do. Dr. Campion could have said I'd have to climb Mt. Everest and bring down the cross Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay had planted there and I would have done it if it meant helping Sam get better.

I almost ran to Sam's room to tell him the good news.

I stopped when I saw him though. Sam wasn't as I had left him when I went to talk with his doctor.

He was sitting up in bed, sort of curled in on himself, hunched over. As I approached I saw that his hair was damp and I could see beads of sweat on his brow.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't feel good," Sam whispered and looked up at me with green eyes glazed with illness.

Shit. I backed out of the room and peered down the hall.

"Hey! Dr. Campion!" I shouted and the fat doc came running as though I was his superior and not just the brother of his patient.

The doc rushed into the room and I followed, hovering over Sam's bed.

Dr. Campion got Sam to lie back down but I could see that it wasn't going to help.

The heart monitor was shrilly in the background: beepbeepbeep.

A nurse entered the room as if called by an inaudible signal and Dr. Campion began muttering to her.

"Temperature is 104.9 and rising," the nurse said in a professional voice.

A fever. Sam had a fever again. Dr. Campion only just seemed to realize that I was still in the room and glared at me sharply, but not without some sympathy.

"I'm sorry but you need to leave," he instructed and I didn't move.

"But," I said and the doctor paused to push me out the door and shut it in my face.

This couldn't be happening. No, not now, not when Sam was getting better. He was getting better, damn it!

More nurses came down the hall and slid into the room, well aware that I was right there. I tried to catch a glimpse of my brother but the door was opened and closed so fast I didn't have a chance.

I prowled up and down the hall like a caged tiger. I wanted to call the hunters but there was nothing they could do and they didn't need to be sitting in the waiting room for hours on end once again. No, I would wait to see what Dr. Campion said before making the decision to call or not. I thought about staying in the hall but then decided I wouldn't see my brother or the doctor any sooner whether I was there or not. I made my way to the waiting room and sat down on one of the red-cushioned chairs with a sigh.

I watched the usual hospital bustle of nurses, doctors, paramedics, patients and family members hurry to and fro and felt a sense of déjà vu.

I tapped my fingers anxiously on the arm of the chair and checked the time on my wristwatch every few seconds.

When Dr. Campion came out of the double doors I jumped from my seat and all but ran to him.

"Is Sam going to be okay? What happened?" I asked before the doc had a chance to gather himself.

"Your brother has a severe infection," Dr. Campion said with the right amount of worry in his voice.

"I'm afraid he cannot go home until he has recovered," the doctor looked apologetic and began walking away.

"Infection? In a hospital?" I followed the doctor and badgered him.

Dr. Campion nodded, "it isn't all that uncommon. I'm confident Sam will make a full recovery."

"But… what…" I stammered. I had been so excited to tell Sam he could leave and now he was going to have to stay longer.

"I have other patients to attend to so if you have any questions, ask the nurses," Dr. Campion said brusquely and walked quickly before I could speak again.

Day 13 (12:30 PM to 2:00 PM)

"Why are you sitting out here?" Pastor Jim asked as the three hunters saw me sitting stiffly in one of the waiting room chairs.

"You look like someone just ran over your dog," Rufus commented.

"Sam's sick… he's got an infection," I muttered.

"Oh no," Pastor Jim said and sat down beside me.

I looked at the three hunters helplessly.

"I thought Sam was getting better… but he's not… he's never going to get better," I muttered and blinked furiously.

"It'll be okay, son," Bobby said, "the doctors are takin' good care of Sam."

I nodded but said nothing.

"I'll get you some coffee," Pastor Jim suggested and left me with the other two hunters.

W

It took me a while to gather the courage to go back into Sam's room. I was half afraid that I was the one who had gotten Sam sick again in the first place.

The hunters offered to go with me and I gratefully accepted.

I sat down heavily in the visitor's chair and looked sadly at my brother. He was very pale and his face was slick with sweat. I listened to the heart monitor continue its beeping, watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Sam's chest.

Gingerly, I reached out and took hold of Sam's uninjured hand.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy, you'll see," I whispered.

"You're gonna get better, you hear me? You're gonna be alright," I continued.

I wanted Sam to open his eyes. I wanted him to smile when I promised I'd make everything alright.

My brother's eyes remained closed.

I knew that we could never return to Utica. That place was lost to us now. I knew too much, Sam knew too much. I wouldn't endanger the people who mattered: Dad, Doc Calhoun, Jimmy and Jenny.

I glanced up at the three men standing at the foot of the bed, "I want to become a hunter."

All three looked surprised, "I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens to anyone else."

"Okay, Dean, okay," Bobby said, nodding his head and looking thoughtful.

"You know you can never go back, right?" Pastor Jim asked and I nodded, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Screaming Trees song.


	5. Wish You Were Here

Do you think you can tell?  
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?  
Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze?  
Cold comfort for change?  
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?  
How I wish, how I wish you were here  
-'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd

Finally. Finally after a total of thirty-two days in Johns Hopkins, Sam was well enough to be released. He still wasn't a hundred percent but he was healthy enough to leave.

The drive to Blue Earth was long and exhausting for everyone. Bobby drove the Oldsmobile while Rufus sat up in shotgun. Sam sat in between Pastor Jim and me in the backseat- knees drawn up nearly to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs like he was a little boy again. Sam even fell asleep a few times, cheek resting against his kneecaps. I would give Pastor Jim a look over my brother's hunched back- Sam was still recovering, that was obvious but I wondered what else was going on with him.

W

I couldn't help but sigh in relief once the Oldsmobile drove up the narrow road to the rectory. Everything was going to be alright now. Sam was going to get better now. My new life was beginning now.

Bobby exited the car first, stretched his hands over his head and groaned.

"I don't know about ya'll but I'm ready for a nice, long nap," the hunter said and waited while the rest of us got out.

I helped Sam out of the car, being cramped up in the backseat hadn't been good for his muscles and he moved stiffly.

I watched with sad amusement as my brother took in the Pastor's house, knowing all too well just how long Sam had been at Alexander's for.

"It's even better on the inside," I said and chuckled to try and keep the mood light.

With a hand on Sam's arm I guided him toward the front door. The three hunters following at a distance.

I leaned forward and opened the door- it was left unlocked-and stepped inside.

Pastor Jim didn't lock the doors at all, reasoning that the town was small and friendly and that nobody who lived there was likely to steal from the local man of the cloth.

I had just shrugged. I would have felt better with barring the doors but I guessed the three hunters were as good a security system as any.

I led Sam into Jim's living room and had him sit down on the chair by the gramophone.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired?" I asked, hovering.

Sam shook his head and his gaze shifted from my face to the collection of books on the shelves.

I crouched down in front of Sam. He wouldn't look at me.

"You know you can ask for something if you want to eat…or if you're thirsty," I said. This behaviour likely not only came from Sam's two month captivity but from the three-meals-a-day schedule they had at Alexander's- institutions like the mental hospital could be very strict. Whenever Sam had been well enough to visit our parents or me I always noticed he was reserved, didn't speak up if he wanted something to eat or drink, sometimes looking lost, like he didn't know what to do with himself when there wasn't a routine to be followed.

Sam shook his head. I nodded, "okay, let me know if you change your mind."

I left him for a moment and found the three hunters in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating some store-bought cookies.

I sat down in the last available chair and grabbed a cookie.

"What's wrong?" Pastor Jim asked.

"Nothing… everything…I don't know. It's not important….I should be used to this by now but it never gets any easier, you know?" I muttered and the three hunters looked askance.

I sighed and leaned forward, munching the cookie thoughtfully, crumbs hitting the table.

"It's Sam…he's been institutionalized for so long he doesn't really know, remember how to act in the real world. Happened all the time when he stayed with my folks… he's sit in whatever chair you showed him to or he'd wander around the house kind of aimlessly. Never asked for anything, always waited until you told him it was okay… Drove my Dad up the wall when he did that…" I explained.

Pastor Jim nodded, "he needs structure, routine because that is what he's used to."

I nodded, "but that's not what it's like here."

I grabbed another cookie, "I mean, I don't have to ask permission to have a cookie or some tea" I waved the biscuit around for emphasis, "we don't even have to wait until dinner to eat if we're hungry, we have snacks."

Bobby sucked in a breath, "well, looks to me that you've gotta re-educate 'im on all those things."

"Easier said than done," I muttered.

"We'll all help," Rufus said, "how hard can it be?"

"Like reprogramming a brainwashed cult member," I said and Rufus looked at me, unsure if I was joking or not.

Jim stood and went into the living room where Sam was. I didn't move from the kitchen but Bobby, Rufus and I watched as the Pastor approached my brother and crouched down before him just as I had done earlier.

I saw Sam's gaze lock onto the Pastor and he appeared to be listening to what the man said.

Jim spoke softly, whispering so I couldn't hear his words but whatever he was saying seemed to have an effect on Sam. My brother's shoulders lost their tightness and he smiled. The lost look left his face. The Pastor stood and made his way to his bookshelf, pondered the tomes for a moment and pulled one out and handed it to my brother.

Jim said something else to Sam and then walked back into the kitchen.

"What'd you give him?" I asked.

"Book of poetry. Robert Frost," Jim said and took a sip of his tea.

I smiled, "he'll like that."

"'The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep,'" Jim recited and I nodded appreciatively.

"That's beautiful, Jim," Bobby said and the Pastor rolled his eyes.

Rufus stood, "so, Dean, if you're really serious about becoming a hunter than let's start training you."

"Now?" I asked.

"Better late than never," Bobby said and got up as well.

"But… Sam…" I protested.

"I'll stay with your brother," Pastor Jim promised.

"Okay. See if you can get him to eat something," I asked, "oh and only soft stuff…"

The holy man nodded, "don't worry about us, Dean."

I knew Sam would be in good hands but I still worried about him. All the time.

I walked out into the backyard with Bobby and Rufus, following them to the little forested area behind the rectory.

"So, how much self-defense do you know?" Bobby asked and crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised.

I smiled.

W

An hour and a half later Bobby, Rufus and I staggered into Pastor Jim's front hallway. I say staggered because all three of us were bruised and exhausted.

I don't think the two hunters expected me to know so much… I know I didn't expect them to fight like they had, for old guys they sure knew how to pack a punch.

We found Sam and Pastor Jim in the kitchen. My brother was eating some applesauce and chatting with the holy man, looking for all intents and purposes perfectly happy and healthy. Sam's wrist was still in a cast, his fingers still splinted but he did look much better than he had in back in Johns Hopkins.

"Hey Sammy, feeling better?" I asked and grabbed a can of Sprite from Pastor Jim's fridge.

Sam ducked his head in a nod and ate a spoonful of applesauce.

I looked at Jim askance.

"Sam was just telling me about the one year you really wanted a red mountain bike for Christmas and had a tantrum when your parents got you a blue one instead," Jim said, eyes sparkling.

I grimaced and felt heat creep up my neck with the blush of embarrassment.

"Did Sammy tell you I was only eight years old?" I asked and reached out to ruffle my brother's hair gently.

I sat down beside Sam who looked at me from the corner of his eye. Later I planned to go into town and pick up all those meds Dr. Campion had prescribed for him.

Sam set his spoon down and pushed the half-eaten bowl of applesauce away from himself.

"You full already?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sam said softly.

"Okay," I said skeptically but I wasn't going to force him to eat it if he didn't want to.

I wouldn't be too keen on eating soft foods for days on end but I wasn't going to tell Sam that.

I stretched my back and groaned as the muscles pulled painfully.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sam asked, a worried expression on his face.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." I said, "Bobby and Rufus and I just had an intense….hike."

Sam looked like he believed my words. He blinked for a moment and stifled a yawn with a fist at his mouth.

I tilted my head, "do you need to go to sleep?"

Sam shook his head, "'m not a little kid, Dean."

"I know that but the drive from Maryland was kind of long," I said, "I won't tell anybody if you want to take a nap."

Sam looked at the three gathered hunters and decided he was tired enough to give in.

"Okay," Sam sighed and stood.

"You'll feel better afterwards. I promise," I said and with one hand on my brother's arm, guided him up the stairs and into the spare bedroom I was using.

Sam sat down on the bed and looked around the room.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked.

Sam shook his head.

"Okay, I'm just downstairs," I said.

Sam nodded.

"Just call if you want something," I continued.

"Yes, Dean," Sam said.

"You know what," I said, "maybe you'd like some water; I don't think you're drinking enough."

"Dean. Leave," Sam said and I ducked out of the room, closing the door gently as I turned and went back downstairs.

W

Bobby, Pastor Jim and Rufus looked at me expectantly when I entered the kitchen.

"So, when are you going to tell Sam the truth?" Bobby asked, fingers tented.

I swiped my can of Sprite from the table and gulped down the sweet, carbonated liquid.

"When the time's right," I said and wiped my face on my sleeve.

Bobby and Rufus looked skeptical. Jim looked mournful.

"What? Sam isn't ready to know yet," I argued.

"He's never going to be ready, son," Jim said, "you just have to tell him."

"Not now," I said, "it's too soon."

"Well, what are you gonna tell 'im when you start really training to be a hunter, hm?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know…just not now," I said.

"Dean," Pastor Jim began but I interrupted him.

"What am I supposed to do? What is Sam supposed to do? He's not nearly well enough, might never be well enough for… I can't tell him that monsters are real and that I hunt them and just leave him or something…" I exclaimed.

Pastor Jim nodded in sympathy.

"You'll think of something," he said and stood to make more tea.

I sighed and finished the pop; put the can in the recycling bin under the sink.

"I should call my Dad, let him know what's up," I muttered and went into the living room for a semblance of privacy.

I was steeling myself for my father to explode, listening to the phone ring once, twice, three times.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad," I said in a measured voice.

"Dean, where the hell have you been?" Dad said roughly, "it's been three months!"

"I'm okay Dad," I said, avoiding the direct question.

"Where's your brother?" Dad asked, sounding angry.

"He's fine, he's safe," I answered.

"You better get your ass back home now then," Dad ordered.

"I can't," I said and rubbed the back of my neck with one hand.

"Why? Are you in some kind of trouble?" Dad's voice didn't lose its edge but now a bit of worry had crept into it.

"Not exactly," I hesitated, staring around the living room at the gramophone, the poetry book sitting on the chair where Sam had left it.

"Do you owe somebody money? Is that it?" Dad accused.

"No!" Sure I liked to gamble, play pool and poker for money, even go to the tracks on occasion but I didn't get involved with bookies or anything like that.

"Listen Dad, uh, Sam and I won't be coming back for a while," I said.

"Where is Sam? Dr. Calhoun is very worried about him. He needs to be in a hospital," Dad said.

I bristled, "You just want him in a hospital!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Dean Winchester!" Dad snapped. This conversation was getting out of hand.

"Than stop pretending like you actually care about Sam because it isn't fooling me anymore," I snarled.

"I'm only trying to do what's best for your brother, for this family," Dad said. I noticed he had said, 'your brother' instead of 'my son'. Dad rarely said called Sam his son if he spoke about him.

I clenched my jaw and took a deep steadying breath.

"Dad, I'm sorry, but Sam and I cannot come back to Utica," I said quietly.

"What about your job?" Dad asked.

"I'll find a new one," I answered, "Captain Baggot will understand."

"Make sure your brother gets the help he needs, at least," Dad said, not so angry anymore.

"I will," I said, "oh, and Dad, for your own safety, lose my number."

I hung up before Dad could answer and turned my phone off.

I slumped into Sam's discarded chair and set the poetry book on the table with the gramophone.

I wasn't sure if I had done the right thing: breaking ties with the only family I had besides Sam. Dad's brothers didn't really count because I hadn't seen them in years and wasn't close to them anyway. I rubbed my face with both hands and sighed. This way I knew Dad would be safe.

I stood and stretched, "hey, Bobby can I borrow the Oldsmobile, I'd better get that stuff for Sam."

"Sure… better yet, I'll come with you," the old hunter said and I suppressed a sigh. I had kind of wanted to be by myself but guessed it wouldn't be too bad with just Bobby for company.

W

"Kid's got enough meds to start his own pharmacy," I muttered as I sat in the passenger seat of the Oldsmobile, heading back to the rectory.

Bobby grunted a response.

"You okay, Bobby?" I asked and turned to look at the man.

His lips were pursed into a frown, his baseball cap low over his eyes, his shoulders stiff. His knuckled were white where they gripped the steering wheel.

"Just can't figger it out," Bobby muttered.

"What?" I asked.

"Why that Meg Masters girl kidnapped yer brother," Bobby said and his grey-blue eyes pinned me.

"We've only just got back, Bobby, we can do research now that we're near a computer… and all of Jim's books," I said.

"Sumthin' just don't feel right," Bobby said and pulled into the driveway of the rectory.

Nothing about this felt right but I didn't say anything to Bobby. I sighed. We'd find out what was going on- I trusted these men.

We stepped inside the house and I saw that Jim and Rufus were in the living room.

Some classical violin music was playing on the gramophone.

"What is that?" I asked and set the grocery bag filled with Sam's meds on the kitchen counter.

"Vivaldi's Winter," Pastor Jim answered.

I raised an eyebrow, "is Sam still sleeping?"

I thought about going upstairs and waking Sam up but then decided against it- he needed all the rest he could get.

I hung out in the living room for about twenty minutes and then I started getting antsy.

"What's up, Dean?" Rufus asked.

"D'you mind if I take a look at you computer, Jim?" I asked the Pastor.

"Be my guest," Jim answered and I headed down to the study-turned-research center to see what I could find on this Meg Masters chick and demons in general.

SPN

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and looked around the guest room. It wasn't much bigger than his room at Alexander's but it certainly was friendlier, less sterile. The floors were made of worn hardwood whereas the floors of Alexander's had been grey tile. The mattress was soft and squishy, unlike the one on his bed at the hospital. There was a cross on the wall above the bed; his room at the hospital had been barren of any decoration.

The room smelt strongly of mothballs, the only thing that reminded Sam of Alexander's- it was similar to the bleach and antiseptic smell in the halls of the institution.

Sam saw Dean's duffel sitting at the foot of the bed and spied the black corner of one of his notebooks poking out from the unzipped bag. His heart leaped and he grabbed the book. It was one of his first, full of pictures of Jess.

Sam stroked the notebook's black covering and creamy white pages. He held the book to his chest like it was his most cherished possession.

He peered at one of the portraits in the book. It was one of Jess; her curly hair flowing softly in a breeze, her face pensive as she gazed out at some unseen sight.

A drop of water hit the page, darkening the paper and graphite. Sam reached up and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

A second drop splashed onto the portrait of Jessica Moore, and another and another. Sam closed the book and set it aside.

Tears fell onto Sam's lap and he did nothing to stop them. He felt the familiar hollow ache that had been with him since Jess's murder stir and widen like a gaping maw. He felt everything that had happened to him in his two months of captivity fall into that hole and join the pain already there.

It seemed as if that raw wound would only grow larger and larger until it swallowed him whole as well.

Unconsciously Sam wrapped his arms around himself and hunched his shoulders, feeling the pull of the barely healed cuts on his back.

He took deep breaths, counting as he did so, trying to calm down. Presently Sam's heartbeat slowed somewhat and his breathing evened out. Exhaustion made his limbs tremble and his eyelids droop.

That's right; Dean sent me up here to sleep, Sam thought, I shouldn't disappoint him.

Sam lay down on his side on the bed; arms still wrapped protectively around his middle and closed his eyes. The painful thoughts of Jessica faded as sleep overtook him…

Meg grinned at him from the darkened room. His fear of her was almost palpable.

"Please, no more," Sam whispered as the woman approached.

Sam held his hands out before him in an attempt to ward away the threat. A sob caught in his throat and his tangled blond hair fell in front of his face, obscuring his vision.

"Please, my parents have money; they'll give you whatever you want!" Sam begged as he scooted away from Meg.

"Aw, Sweetie, we're just getting started," Meg cooed mockingly, smile spreading wider as large tears coursed down Sam's face.

He tried to fight her off, he really did but she was so much stronger than him. His small fists beat at Meg's chest with no reaction, he screeched for help loudly but no one came, no one ever came.

Sam made one last attempt to fend off his attacker. Raising one fist he slashed at Meg with his hand, long nails digging bloody grooves into the woman's cheek.

"Ouch, that hurt," Meg said as though she had really felt no pain at all.

The woman grabbed Sam's open hand and bent it backwards, a sickening crack drawing a feral scream from Sam as his wrist broke…

Sam sat up with a start, confusion clouding his mind. His gaze darted to his hands; he only saw the cast and splints covering his left hand, his right hand was clenched unconsciously into a fist. He could have sworn he had had long nails, painted with French tips.

Wait, how did he even know what French tips were? Sam groaned and ran his right hand through his hair, feeling relief at the sight of his own chocolate brown locks.

That's the last time I eat applesauce before I go to bed, Sam thought with faint amusement.

Sam stood and gathered up his notebooks from Dean's duffel. He held them carefully as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Sam paused at the top of the stairs, unsure of what to do for a moment. He was considering going back into the guest room and waiting until Dean came to check on him but he heard the unmistakable sound of his brother's voice and he decided it would be okay to go downstairs.

Sam crept down the stairs as quietly as possible and headed into the kitchen, where Dean was.

His brother was leaning against the table, a bottle of beer hung lax from his fingers as he spoke to Bobby.

The bearded man stopped the conversation in mid-sentence and gave Dean a pointed look.

Sam's brother turned around and smiled.

"Hey buddy, did you sleep?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "uh, can I, um, borrow… a pencil?"

Dean looked confused for a second and then his gaze shifted to the notebooks Sam held and he looked surprised, "'course you can have a pencil!"

Bobby rummaged around in one of the drawers and held out a stubby No.2 pencil. Sam hesitated, not reaching for the writing utensil.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean said and Sam quickly grabbed the pencil from Bobby.

Sam could have sworn he saw a worried look flit across his brother's face but then Dean smiled again.

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to do next. He looked to his brother.

Taking the hint, Dean set his beer on the table and reached out for Sam's arm.

"Why don't you sit in the living room? It'll be more comfortable," he said and guided Sam to the chair beside the old gramophone.

Pastor Jim and Rufus were in the room; the holy man pondering over his books, looking for a particular one and the black hunter fiddled with the dial of the radio, trying to find a good station.

Sam stared at the duo. Pastor Jim looked over his shoulder at him and gave a gentle smile. Rufus glanced at him quickly but then turned his attention back to the music now wafting from the speakers.

"Now this is music, Jim," Rufus said as Wilson Pickett's voice sang of 1,000 dances.

Sam wanted to sketch but he didn't want the two men to be in the room. They would want to see what he was drawing, they would ask him questions he didn't want to answer, they wouldn't understand it like his father didn't understand.

Sam lowered his head and set the books on his lap, one hand on the stack of black notebooks.

"Rufus," Sam heard Pastor Jim say and he listened as the men moved into the kitchen to join Dean and Bobby.

At Alexander's most of the other patients didn't bother him when he was drawing, many kept to themselves and he didn't mind that. The only people who wanted to see his books were Dr. Calhoun and the nurses but he wouldn't let them near his drawings. He didn't even let Jenny see them.

It wasn't that Sam was self-conscious about his portraits, they were good, Dean always said so, but he had almost nothing that was private in Alexander's except for the notebooks and he guarded them jealously.

Sam didn't move for a number of minutes, chewing on his thumbnail he stared at his lap, making sure Pastor Jim and Rufus were not going to come back into the room.

Once he was positive they were staying in the kitchen, Sam opened his latest notebook and picked up the pencil.

A sense of peace came over Sam whenever he laid the graphite or felt-tip or ballpoint to paper. He had something he could control, even when everything around him seemed to be out of his hands.

The world seemed to stop while he sketched, time slipped away, became meaningless. Sam's drawing held his undivided attention; it even quieted the voices sometimes, when they became too loud to bear.

All he needed to focus on was the weight of the pencil in his hand, the rasp of the nub against the paper, the lines and curves the flowed from his mind into being on the page.

"Sam!" Sam looked up to see Dean standing right in front of him.

He watched silently as Dean set a glass of water on the table beside him, stood for a moment looking as though he wanted to speak, and then retreated into the kitchen.

Sam glanced at the glass of water and then proceeded to ignore it.

He held the pencil ready but paused. Sam looked in the direction of the kitchen and then turned his gaze to his unfinished drawing. He stared at it for a long time before closing the book altogether and sitting the pencil on the table with the gramophone.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair, listening to the voices coming from the kitchen until they became a dull drone.

SPN

"So you're telling me that not only ghosts and demons are real, but werewolves and vampires?" I asked Bobby.

"Ayuh," the old hunter nodded and I just shook my head.

"This is just… crazy," I muttered.

Pastor Jim looked at me with a sympathetic expression.

I peered into the living room and saw that Sam was sleeping, his head back, and his mouth slightly open. The stack of notebooks lay on his lap.

"You wanted to know," Rufus said matter-of-factly.

"I know," I grumbled.

"Did you find anything on the girl?" Pastor Jim asked.

I shook my head, "nothing new."

"Maybe your brother knows something," Rufus suggested.

"No! I'm not asking him. I can't let him become involved in this… he's too… too…ill," I protested.

"But Dean, he might know where Meg is headed next," Pastor Jim said in his quiet voice.

I shook my head, "I won't do it. I won't ask him and that's final."

I glared at each of the hunters as if making them promise silently to never bring the topic up again.

"Are you really sure you want to do this, Dean? Become a hunter? Once you do you can never go back. You don't have to do this, son, you can live somewhere quiet with your brother, you could even take your father with you and start over," Pastor Jim said.

"I saw what that demon did to Sam and I don't want anyone else to suffer the same fate," I said seriously.

"I couldn't save Sam from all that pain but maybe, if I'm lucky and quick, I can save someone else," I said, still trying to drive my point home. Apparently they didn't think anyone would willingly volunteer to be a hunter.

"Sam's gonna be in danger if ya do this Dean," Bobby rumbled.

I nodded and blinked at the sudden moisture in my eyes. I had to admit I hadn't really figured Sam into the equation.

I knew there was no way I would have Sam come with me if…when I started hunting.

"Ah shit," I muttered, "I can't do this, not with Sam… what am I going to do with Sam?"

Bobby and Rufus looked as confused as I felt.

"He could stay with me," Pastor Jim offered and the two hunters and I all stared at him.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," I argued.

Jim shook his head and smiled, "I don't mind, really. I'm more Pastor than hunter nowadays anyway and I could use the company."

I frowned. I really liked Jim, he was a nice guy but I didn't completely trust him, I didn't completely trust Rufus or Bobby either even though I knew they wouldn't harm me or Sam. It wouldn't be right to dump my mentally ill brother on Jim's doorstep and say 'see ya'.

Jim nodded and looked like he understood my reasoning.

"I…I'll think about it…okay?" I asked.

"Alright, you think about it," Jim answered, "and I will think about it as well."

I would go through all the available options before choosing. I needed to decide what was best for my brother.

Bobby pursed his lips, "how's Sam doin' anyway?"

I shrugged, "I think he's just tired from the drive… I'll get a better idea of where he stands after he's rested a bit."

"He's not eating a whole lot," Rufus pointed out, indicating the applesauce Sam hadn't finished earlier in the day.

"Kid's been eating yogurt and pudding for close to a month now," I said, "you'd get sick of eating it too, Rufus."

The old black hunter gave me a look that said 'fair enough' and didn't say anything else.

"D'n! Dean!" Sam's frightened voice cut through any further conversation and I jumped up from my chair and rushed into the living room.

I reached out and gently gripped Sam's shoulder as he woke.

"Hey, it's okay," I muttered softly, "your safe."

Sam's gaze focused on me and he gripped my hand in his right one. I gave Sam and encouraging smile.

"We're at Pastor Jim's? Remember?" I asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah, I remember."

Sam slumped against the arm of the chair. He pulled me closer in his grip. I let him even though I was standing in an awkward position.

I saw the three hunters standing in the kitchen, watching us.

I ruffled Sam's hair and gently extracted my hand from his.

"You're okay now, right?" I asked, "I'll just be in the kitchen," I said and pointed to emphasize where I was going.

Sam nodded slowly. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked back into the kitchen and sat down on my vacated chair.

I sighed heavily and laid my head in my hand.

Pastor Jim headed into the living room and was talking to Sam. I didn't know or really care what the holy man said to my brother, as long as it calmed him down.

What am I going to do? What am I going to do with Sammy? I thought helplessly.

"My offer still stands, Dean," Pastor Jim's voice made me jump a little.

I just shook my head. I didn't want to leave Sam here… but I didn't want to ship him off to some mental hospital either.

Everything was so screwed up. I didn't know what to do.

"Dean," I heard Sam's voice and looked up. I peered into the living room. Sam was still sitting in the chair by the gramophone but now he looked expectant.

I stood up and made my way over to my brother.

"What's up, Sammy?" I asked and Sam shoved a piece of paper into my hands.

It was a page he'd torn from one of his notebooks. I frowned; Sam would never rip up his books.

Sam didn't look as I turned the paper over and saw the sketch of a burly looking man I didn't recognize at all.

The man had a thick neck, small dark eyes, a handlebar moustache and thin lips pulled down into a frown. He didn't look like a very pleasant individual.

"Who is this?" I asked Sam.

Sam looked at me quickly and then looked away again. He appeared uncomfortable.

"Hey," I reached out and touched his shoulder.

"He's the other one," Sam whispered so quietly I barely caught his words.

I stared at Sam for a moment, "the other one what?"

Sam frowned and I saw frustration flash in his green eyes. He didn't want to say out loud who this stranger was but I wasn't making any connections myself.

I looked down at the sketch again; sure I had never seen the man before.

"C'mon Sammy, give me somthi-" I halted in mid sentence.

"The other one," I muttered to myself and took the paper into the kitchen to show the hunters.

"What've you got there, Dean?" Rufus asked, leaning over to get a better look. I flattened the paper on the tabletop and pointed at the likeness drawn there.

"Could a, uh, demon… kidnap someone all by themselves?" I asked, looking at Bobby.

The hunter shrugged, "well yeah, but… mostly they just possess folks."

"I know that part of it," I snapped.

"Who is that?" Pastor Jim wondered.

"Sam said this was the 'other one' and I think he means the other person… demon that held him captive," I explained.

Jim nodded, "its not uncommon for demons to work together… it's happened before… it's just not a usual occurrence."

"Bobby, you weren't sure exactly why Meg kidnapped Sam. Maybe she needed a little back-up, you know? For whatever reason," I said.

"Ayuh," Bobby nodded.

All three hunters looked down at Meg's supposed accomplice.

"So, does 'fugly' have a name?" Rufus asked.

I shook my head, "I didn't ask."

Rufus stood but I grabbed his arm and shook my head again.

"What? We've gotta know what Mr. Tall, Dark and Evil calls himself," the black hunter said.

"I'll ask him," Pastor Jim suggested.

"Just…" I said but didn't really know how to say what I wanted.

"Don't worry Dean, I'll only ask for a name," the Pastor answered and headed into the living room.

I watched as Pastor Jim spoke quietly to my brother for a moment and then returned to the kitchen.

"Name's Barclay; Sam doesn't know if it's a first name or last," Pastor Jim explained.

I ground my teeth and clenched my fists in anger. So there was some other demon involved in all this shit, too?

I wanted to hunt this son of a bitch and tear him limb from limb, immediately after I sent Meg's ass back to Hell.

I glanced into the living room and saw my brother sitting hunched over, his head in his hands, his fingers twisted in his hair.

I padded softly over to Sam and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay Sammy," I said, "its over. They can't hurt you anymore."

Sam nodded but didn't lift his head.

"You're safe," I continued, now rubbing his back gently, "Rufus and Bobby and Pastor Jim 'n me are not gonna let anything happen to you."

I looked helplessly back at our three companions- they returned my gaze showing varying degrees of sympathy.

Sam lifted his head, if only slightly and looked at me with dark green eyes brimming with unshed tears. My heart broke for my brother then. I didn't know what to do to help him. I didn't know how to make all the bad memories go away.

I couldn't help but think that if Mom was here she'd be able to make Sam feel better. She had always been able to make both Sam and I feel great, even if we were having the shittiest day ever.

I reached over and gripped the back of Sam's neck gently, hoping it would comfort the way it had when he was a kid.

"How about I get Pastor Jim to make you some tea? It'll help you feel better," I suggested and on cue the holy man broke away from the other two hunters and busied himself with getting the kettle heated up.

"I was so scared, Dean," Sam muttered, barely audible.

"Shh, Sammy, you don't have to talk about it," I said and moved my hand to his wrist and just ran my fingers over the pulse point.

"I thought I was going to die," Sam continued, "I didn't think I'd ever see you or Dad again."

"Shh," I cooed, "You didn't though, you're safe now and nothing bad is going to happen to you."

Maybe now was a good time to get Sam all those meds I had picked up from the pharmacy. I stood and released my hold on my brother's arm.

I stopped when Sam's hand shot out and his fingers dug into my wrist, "please stay here."

I settled down into a crouch beside my brother again.

"Okay, I won't go anywhere," I said and brushed some stray locks away from Sam's brow.

It did not have the desired effect to comfort though, Sam froze and his eyes welled up with tears. I dropped my hand, "sorry."

"It…never mind," Sam muttered and lowered his gaze.

I heard the soft clink of china as Pastor Jim padded into the room.

"It's herbal," Jim said, "no caffeine."

I nodded and took the teacup from the tray and handed it to my brother. I could see Sam's hands tremble slightly as he held the cup and took a tentative sip.

"Why don't I make you some soup? It'll be a nice change from pudding, eh?" I asked and Sam just continued to drink his tea.

I extracted my wrist from Sam's death-grip and moved quickly but casually as possible into the kitchen. Pastor Jim was still out in the living room with Sam.

Bobby and Rufus turned to me as I pulled a small pot from one of the cupboards and a can of tomato soup.

"Is he gonna be a'right, Dean?" Bobby asked quietly.

I shrugged, "I hope so. He's really tired right now but once he eats something and gets some decent rest he should bounce back."

I opened the can of soup and dumped it into the pot, set the pot on the stove and turned on the heat to medium.

I grabbed the white paper pharmacy bag from the counter

While the soup warmed I took out the pills and set them on the table, beside a spoon and bowl already prepped for the meal. I grimaced at the number- eight in all- and hoped Sam wouldn't have to take all of them for very long.

Rufus and Bobby sat down at the table, watching me as I worked. Bobby leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his belly. Rufus put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, looking very relaxed.

"I'm glad you two are so comfortable about all of this because I feel like I am going to go as insane as my brother," I muttered under my breath.

Rufus opened one eye, "we're not happy with any of this, boy. But you're not lettin' us talk to Sam so…"

I slammed a hand down on the table, expecting the two men to jump but they didn't so much as flinch, "I don't want to dredge up bad memories. Sam's already been through enough. I don't want to see him hurt more just because you guys think he knows more than he does."

Bobby pursed his lips, "but what if he does, Dean? What if yer brother knows about Meg and this Barclay character? What if he knows where they went?"

"I told you before, Bobby! No! No! No!" I growled angrily and Rufus lowered his arms and leaned forward.

"We know you care for your brother, Dean. We know you don't want your brother to get hurt anymore than he already is but if Sam knows something… something that might help us find these demons and send them back where they belong, than damn it son, we can't keep waitin' for Hell itself to freeze over!"

I blinked at Rufus, a little surprised at the older man's outburst.

I sagged a little.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I realized how right Bobby and Rufus and Jim were. Although I cared about Sam and didn't want to see him in pain, I also wanted to find those bastards who kidnapped him.

"Act like the cop you are, Dean," Bobby said.

I nodded.

Okay, I thought, Okay, I can do this. If this was any other victim and not my brother I would have gone into 'cop mode' a long time ago- asked what had happened to the guy, asked if his captors had said anything that might help us out- but because it was Sam I couldn't get past that fact and that didn't do anyone any good.

"Ah know you don't wanna see yer brother havin' to remember all that shit, but, you gotta know that maybe he can help us," Bobby said and I silently agreed.

"Okay," I finally agreed despite my better judgment, "but I want Sam to eat something first."

I turned back to the soup warming on the stove and stirred it with a wooden spoon. I didn't want to have to ask Sam what had happened to him in those two months when he had been held captive but I knew I had to if there was any chance of finding out where Meg and Barclay had gone… and maybe, just maybe what they had wanted Sam for in the first place.

Once the soup was steaming I poured it into the bowl and peered into the living room. Pastor Jim was sitting across from Sam, elbows on his knees and hands cupping his grey-bearded chin. It looked to me like the two were having a serious conversation.

"Sam, come and have some soup," I said loudly and my brother almost jumped.

He stuck close to Jim as they both made their way to the kitchen and I thought that the fact that the older man was a priest was comforting to Sam somehow. Although my brother didn't mind the other two hunters, he didn't really speak to them and he seemed more at ease with only Jim.

The four of us sat at the table while Sam ate his soup. Bobby and Rufus said nothing.

"Better than yogurt, eh?" I asked my brother and he nodded.

"Soon we'll have you eating T-Bone steaks and chocolate cake and drinking beers with the best of them," I said with an encouraging smile and Sam nodded, returning my smile.

I had no idea how I was going to ask Sam about Meg and Barclay. I know I had asked victims all sorts of questions without totally thinking about them while I was a cop but this was different. This was my baby brother in the hot-seat now and I did not want to cause him anymore harm than he'd already suffered.

I sighed and Sam looked at me for a moment, "are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine," I waved his question away, "finish eating."

The three hunters turned to me in unison, their expressions saying 'are you sure you're up to this?'

When Sam finished eating the soup I told him to take his meds. Sam didn't react but just took all the pills, washing them down with his glass of water, just like he would if he were back at Alexander's.

I aimlessly fiddled with the dirty dishes before Bobby growled at me that they could wait and bade me out to the living room where Sam was already sitting on the couch, across from Jim.

Walking into the room I decided to sit beside my brother so that at least I could give him a little comfort and support. Bobby and Rufus took up positions on either side of Jim's chair, their postures relaxed but their expressions were hard and serious. Jim had a compassionate look in his eyes and Bobby smiled grimly at my brother and I. Rufus was probably thinking what the hell I had gotten involved in this for? I thought that the older man liked me well enough, I liked him, but I could tell he was unused to having victim's family members as permanent fixtures in cases.

I was almost positive that right now Rufus had his game-face on and he was gonna treat this next conversation like any other case concerning a supernatural attack.

Jim leaned forward, elbows on his knees and took a deep breath.

"Sam, we'd like to ask you a few questions about… what happened to you, if that's alright," he said in his soft voice.

I glanced at my brother to gauge his reaction. Sam lowered his eyes and frowned, raised his hand to his mouth and chewed on his thumbnail for a minute.

"Sammy?" I asked and he looked at me.

"What… do you want to know?" He asked, not taking his eyes off me.

"Why don't we move into this slowly? You don't have to rush things," Jim said and Sam nodded.

"Okay," Sam mumbled.

I put a hand on my brother's knee, "we can stop whenever you need to, okay?"

Sam nodded and sighed, his posture rigid and nervousness etched into the features of his face.

"Did Meg or Barclay ever speak to you?" Bobby began, speaking slowly and clearly.

"Yeah… Meg… talked a lot," Sam answered and I saw him glance at me from the corner of his eye.

"What about Barclay?" Rufus continued, arms folded and a stern expression on his face.

Sam shook his head, "he never said much to me at all."

Meg was obviously the leader of the two, the dominant personality while Barclay was submissive.

"What kind of things did Meg say to you?" Rufus wanted to know.

Sam hesitated, "a lot of stuff…" he said, evasive.

"Like what?" Rufus pressured and I glared at him for a moment.

Sam twisted his hands together and his breathing hitched.

I put a hand on my brother's shoulder, "its okay, Sammy. Did she ever say anything about where they had come from or where they were going?"

"No," Sam whispered and looked downwards.

Rufus raised an eyebrow, "you sure? Think real hard."

Sam shook his head, "I didn't even know where I was!"

"Okay," I soothed, "that's okay."

Rufus looked like he was trying not to look annoyed and Bobby sighed.

Jim sat up a little straighter in his chair, "did Meg or Barclay ever tell you why you were there?

Sam seemed to shrink into himself and his brow furrowed. I glanced at Jim and back at my brother, holding my breath in anticipation of his answer.

"They were waiting for something to happen," Sam said and I released my breath in a whoosh.

"That's why you were there? They were waiting for something?" Rufus blurted out and Sam cringed.

"Take it easy," Jim cautioned his fellow hunter, "remember, Sam is not the… bad guy in all this."

"What were they waitn' for, boy?" Bobby spoke up, "d'you know?"

Sam shook his head and licked his lips, "Meg… wouldn't tell me… she wanted it to be a surprise."

I cocked an eyebrow at the hunters. Try figuring that oneout, my expression said.

"This ain't getting us anywhere Jim," Rufus interrupted again; "we should be out there looking for the bitch ourselves."

The normally mild-mannered Pastor cut eyes at the black hunter, "Rufus, why don't you make yourself useful then and call up some contacts and see if they have any information on where Meg may be hiding out?"

Rufus blinked at the holy man, shocked, I guess that Jim had never spoken to him like that but nodded brusquely and walked down the hall toward the office.

Jim returned his soft gaze to my brother, "Its okay Sam, Rufus isn't mad at you."

Sam nodded and chewed on his thumbnail again.

"Now Sam, I want you to take your time and think very hard about this next question, okay? Do you think you could do that?" Pastor Jim asked.

Sam shifted closer against me, "I guess."

"Did Meg or Barclay ever hint at why you were there? Do you know what they could have been waiting for?"

Sam's eyes narrowed and he twisted his hands in his lap. My brother's brow furrowed as he thought.

"I don't know…" Sam shook his head finally.

"Its okay, Sammy," I hugged my brother and looked at him encouragingly.

"You did a good job, Sam," Jim said even though he really hadn't given us any new information.

Sam looked up at me, his green eyes large and dark with fatigue.

"Let's go upstairs so you can have a nap Sam, you look exhausted," I suggested, knowing my brother would not take it as such but as an order.

"Don't let me sleep too late, Dean," Sam asked of me.

I stood and held out a hand to my brother, "sure thing Sammy."

I nodded to the two remaining hunters- we'd have to talk once I came back down- and followed closely behind Sam as he shuffled toward the stairs.

Sam held his head low and he moved slowly.

"Are they mad at me 'cause I didn't know anything?" Sam asked quietly.

I assured my brother that the three hunters were not upset, "No, of course not."

Sam swayed a little as he climbed the stairs and without thinking I grabbed his upper arm.

Sam pulled from my grasp and stopped walking.

"Sorry Sammy," I apologized, kicking myself, knowing he didn't like physical contact, especially if he wasn't forewarned about it.

He muttered something unintelligible and continued up the stairs. I frowned. Sam stopped when we made it to the landing and turned to look at me.

"I wish Dad was here," he said slowly, as though he had to think about the words before he spoke.

"Me too Sammy," I answered.

Sam sighed, "I want to go home. Not Alexander's… home."

I didn't know what to say. The two places Sam considered 'home' was my townhouse or Mom and Dad's bungalow with its sprawling yard and large, inviting rooms. Sam had been in neither house for a long time. Although the doctors and nurses tried to make Alexander's friendly and cheerful, it fell short. I was always acutely aware that Alexander's was a hospital and I was sure Sam knew that even more so than I.

"Dean?" I heard Sam ask, jolting me from my thoughts. My brother was already down the hall, standing just on the threshold of my room.

"I think there's another room you can use," I walked over and kind of shepherded my brother down past a narrow linen closet.

The second bedroom looked almost the same as mine did except that the bedclothes were a different colour.

"Not bad, eh?" I asked in an enthusiastic tone.

"I guess," Sam answered as though he were unsure of the accommodations.

I frowned, "what's wrong?"

Sam shook his head, "nothing."

I could tell though that something was bothering my brother. I surveyed the room again. It has exactly the same pieces of furniture in it as mine did- even had a crucifix on the wall- so I didn't see why it would bother Sam so.

Maybe it's just 'cause it's a new place, I thought, he liked routine and familiarity and anything out of the ordinary set him off a little bit.

I had an idea, "I'll go get your notebooks, okay?"

Sam nodded slightly and remained where he stood, waiting for me to return.

I stomped back down the stairs, pausing when the faces of the three hunters peered at me from the kitchen. I waved a hand to indicate I wasn't staying but going back up.

I gathered Sam's books which had been placed next to the chair he'd been sitting in.

Pastor Jim nudged at my side. I jumped a little, startled at his sudden appearance.

"If I can help in any way," he said softly, as though he had to whisper.

I nodded, "thanks, but I think we're okay. Is it okay if Sam stays in the room down the hall from mine?"

"Of course," Jim smiled and reached out to grip my shoulder quickly before getting up and returning to the kitchen.

I held Sam's books up to my chest and made my way hurriedly up the stairs. Sam hadn't remained where I had left him. He was standing on the threshold of my bedroom.

I sighed, "c'mon Sammy, this way."

I lightly touched my brother's arm with my free hand and he followed me obediently.

I led Sam into his new room and he sat down on the bed, looking decidedly uncomfortable. I set his books down beside him and smiled.

"Just try and relax, Sam," I said, "you're safe here and all you need to do is recover."

Sam muttered something and looked down.

I crouched down so that I was looking up at my brother.

"Sam," I said, "hey, it's going to okay… it's going to get better."

My brother's eyes were large and dark, moist with unshed tears.

I frowned and stood. I wanted to let Sam know that he was in no danger, that the hunters and I wouldn't let anything bad happen to him but words seemed useless.

"Try and get some sleep, Sammy," I said, instead, "I'll be up later to check on you."

I turned and left the room, to give my brother privacy, I reasoned, closing the door behind me.

I made my way down the hall and padded quietly down the stairs.

The three hunters were staring up at me from the bottom of the steps.

"Sorry Sam didn't have any useful information," I apologized.

Pastor Jim shrugged, "It isn't his fault, Dean."

I sighed, "Yeah, I know… I just wish we had something… tangible to work with, you know?"

"Don't worry, boy, we'll get 'em," Bobby said with conviction.

I nodded and my shoulders sagged as if on their own accord, "I know."

I made it the bottom and stared helplessly at the hunters.

"Ah fuck! I don't know if I can do this!" I exclaimed and Pastor Jim gave me a sympathetic look.

"No one says you have to," Rufus spoke up, "we've saved plenty of civilians who don't become hunters… sure they're more aware of what's out there but they don't feel compelled to chase after it… many just want to keep themselves and their families safe; they just want to live their lives."

I nodded, "but I just can't go back to Utica and pretend like nothing happened or that demons and monsters aren't real."

I didn't say it but I also could not, would not shake the decision that I needed to avenge my brother… take out the couple who had hurt Sammy so badly.

I shook my head, "I need to do this. I have to make sure those demons are back where they belong and nobody else goes through what Sam did."

The hunters looked like they could appreciate that sentiment.

"If this really is what you want, Dean, than we will help you any way we can," Pastor Jim assured me.

"I'm not going to rest until those two are underground," I practically snarled.

I nodded, grateful that the hunters were willing to help me. We may not know where the demons were right then but I didn't doubt that Bobby, Jim and Rufus would find them if they were anywhere this side of the Atlantic.

W

Just before dinner I made my way back upstairs to check on Sam. I know I had promised to not let him sleep too late but I couldn't wake him up so soon. The kid had been through a hell of a lot in the past three months and he was still recovering- he needed as much rest as he could get.

As I reached the landing I saw that the door to Sam's room was open. I crept down the hall and peered into the bedroom. Sam wasn't in there.

Hm, I paused for a moment before I saw that the bathroom door was shut and the light was on.

I strode across the hall and tapped the door once, "Sammy? You in there?"

"Y-yes," Sam's stammering voice greeted me, "g-go away, Dean."

I raised an eyebrow and tried the doorknob- it didn't budge and I cursed- I took a deep breath.

"Sam, open the door," I said in my most authoritative voice, sure my brother would readily respond to the tone.

I heard movement but then Sam spoke, "go away D-Dean!"

"Sam, I am going to count to three and you had better open this door or I will break it down," I spoke slowly and firmly as I had been trained to do in hostage negotiations.

I looked up when I heard footsteps on the stairs and I could just make out the top of Jim's graying head, "Is everything okay, Dean?"

I hesitated, "uh… no I don't think so."

The Pastor made his way up the stairs and looked at me curiously.

'Sam', I mouthed to the hunter turned preacher and Jim nodded.

The older man stepped forward and put his face very close to the door, "Sam, what's wrong, son?"

"Go away! Go away! Leave me a- alone!" Sam shouted and I cringed.

Sam was stuttering- something that happened when he was really upset or if he was having a schizophrenic episode- and I hoped for the former instead of the latter. The lesser of two evils.

"Son, you know we can help you," Jim pressed, "whatever you're going through, you don't have to go through it alone."

Is that what you say to the lost sheep in your flock, Jim? I thought, slightly annoyed for no reason. I was just worried about my brother.

"N- No you can't," Sam's voice wavered. I looked up to see that Bobby and Rufus had joined us now too. The two other hunters stood back and watched patiently.

"We can help you Sam," Jim insisted, "you can talk to us… you can talk to your brother. Don't you want to talk to Dean?"

"I c-can't tell…. him!" came the response.

"Sammy, c'mon man… we can tell each other anything… like when we were kids, remember?" I tried and jumped back when I heard something smash from within the bathroom.

"Sammy! Sam! What are you doing?!" I cried but Jim gently pushed me back with one hand. With one look he told me that I wasn't helping matters by shouting at my brother.

"Sam, its okay son… you don't have to come out of there until you're ready, okay?" Jim said softly.

Jim motioned at me to move out of the way and I stood next to Bobby. The old hunter raised an eyebrow and scratched his ruddy beard. I just shrugged.

What was happening? Was Sammy okay? Was he hurt?

"We're not angry with you, son," Jim said softly, face nearly touching the door, "isn't that right?"

The preacher looked pointedly at the two other hunters and Bobby spoke up.

"Jim's right," Bobby said in his gruff voice, "we're not angry at you, boy, we're just angry at the situation… you understand? We don't blame ya."

Rufus remained silent but nodded that Bobby was correct- even though Sam wouldn't see him.

I heard movement from within the bathroom, "l-leave me alone….p-please."

Damn it! I thought, nobody can get through to him!

What I wouldn't give to have Jenny with us right now. She could always calm Sammy down- always knew what to say to him to make him feel better, to convince him that everything was going to be alright- and I suddenly had an idea.

"Wait a second," I told Jim and all three hunters peered at me curiously as I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans.

I hoped this worked. Of course I was taking a big risk- Jenny could not answer or be too pissed at me to help out- but I had to try.

I dialed Jenny's number- I had it for emergency purposes even though I'd never used it and if something did go wrong it would probably be Dr. Calhoun rather than Jenny who I'd have to phone- and bit my lip in anticipation.

The phone rang once, twice, three times… four times-

"Hello?" Jenny's soft, lyrical voice asked and I let out a breath of relief.

"Jenny, its Dean Winchester-" I began, speaking quickly but Jenny cut me off.

"Dean! Is Sam alright? What happened?" she didn't sound angry, only worried.

I sighed, "Uh, Sammy's not alright… I can't give you all the details but I think you should talk to him… calm him down, you know?"

"Is he having an episode?" she asked.

"I don't really know," I answered truthfully, "he's locked himself in the bathroom and won't come out… won't talk to me at all."

I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn't want to get into Sam's eight weeks of captivity and month-long stay at Johns Hopkins. I didn't know exactly what to say.

"Where have you been?" Jenny asked, now she sounded peeved.

"I'll explain everything later," not a chance, "just please… do this for Sam."

I heard Jenny sigh and I knew she would help out, if not for my sake than for Sam.

"Okay, Dean," Jenny caved, "but you have to promise to tell me what's going on."

I had no intention of telling Jenny anything, "deal."

"Hold on, I'm gonna put you on speakerphone," I paused and did so, turning the volume up all the way so Sam would be able to hear Jenny's voice through the door.

Jim moved out of the way as I set the phone down near the door.

"Okay, Jenny," I said in a loud voice.

The three hunters didn't speak but seemed to be waiting.

"Sam?" Jenny's voice filled the tiny hallway, "its Jenny."

She paused, as though unsure of how to proceed.

"Go on," I urged.

I heard Sam shift in the bathroom, probably moving closer to the door.

"J-Jenny?" Sam's voice said and I felt hope well up inside me.

"Yeah, Sam," Jenny's voice affirmed, sounding happy.

"It's good to hear from you," Jenny continued, "Dean says you're not doing so well."

I heard Sam shift, "I… uh… you don't know anything!"

Shit. This wasn't going how I planned. Sam was shutting down fast on everyone.

"Sam, please talk to me," Jenny pleaded, "tell me what's wrong! We always used to be able to talk at Alexander's-"

"I c-can't go b-back there!" Sam shouted, "I j-just can't… I can't t-tell you and I can't tell D-Dean!"

"Dean, what am I supposed to say?" Jenny's voice was now directed at me, "what's happened?"

"It's complicated, Jenny," I said, "I can't explain it right now." Not with Sam within hearing range- he didn't need to relive the horror of his captivity- not while Sam was losing it.

"I can't help him if I don't know what happened!" Jenny cried; her voice high-pitched and strained.

I began pacing, "Look, I…" I stopped and peered at the three hunters, unsure of how much I should divulge.

Thankfully I didn't have to say any more because Jenny began speaking again, "Sam, you're brother's really worried about you, don't you know that? All Dean's trying to do is help you."

I held my breath and waited.

"I know Dean loves you and just wants to make sure you're okay," she continued, "please come out of the bathroom Sam… Dean just wants to help you."

I don't know how Jenny did it but after a moment's pause I heard the bathroom door unlock and Sam peered out nervously.

I gave my brother a reassuring smile, "that's it, Sammy, there's a good boy."

"Je-Jenny?" Sam asked.

"I'm still on the line, Sam," her voice said. Sam looked down at the phone and picked it up curiously.

Before I could move, Sam ducked back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, taking the phone with him.

Damn! I leaned against the wall across from the bathroom and slid down until I was sitting with my legs splayed out in front of me.

"I could pick the lock if ya wanted," Bobby suggested.

I shook my head, "no, I don't want to scare him."

"Ya don't think he'd hurt himself, do you?" Rufus asked and looked warily at the door.

I hesitated, "not like it hasn't happened before."

Both Bobby and Rufus stared at me. I had told Jim how Sam had ended up in Alexander's and about the years he'd spent there but the two other hunters knew mostly nothing about my brother.

"It ah, happened a while ago," I answered but didn't extrapolate.

"Than we should bust in there!" Rufus exclaimed.

Bobby grabbed a hold of his friend's arm, "that won't do anybody any good, Rufus… if that girl can talk some sense into that boy than I say we just wait for Sam to make the first move."

"Remember Rufus, we do not want Sam to think of us as enemies," Jim spoke up and the black hunter grumbled but nodded.

"C'mon," Bobby pushed Rufus in the direction of the stairs and Jim and I watched as they headed down to the main floor of the rectory.

The Pastor crouched down beside me, "mind if I keep you company?"

I shook my head and patted the hardwood beside me, "be my guest- did you bring any popcorn?"

Jim chuckled and sat down, his knees popping as he lowered himself onto the floor.

"It'll be okay, Dean," Jim whispered, "Sam will get better, it'll just take time… and we'll see that those demons get what they deserve."

I raised an eyebrow, "what, no 'God will deal with them' spiel?"

"I may dress like a priest but I am a hunter first," Jim said seriously.

"Could have fooled me," I argued and turned my attention to the closed bathroom door, willing it to open and reveal my brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Pink Floyd song.


	6. Chasing Shadows

I feel the ice in my head

Running its hands through my bed

Not even dreaming I seem to be dead

Colors of yellow and colors of red.

All I'm asking some secret voice

Is to lead me to darkness

I'm so tired, dawn never comes

I just hide in the shadows.

-'Chasing Shadows' by Deep Purple

After a half an hour the bathroom door opened again and Sam stepped out. He set the phone down in front of me.

"Sammy? You okay?" I asked and Sam shook his head.

Jim stood up and stretched, "I'll give you two a little time alone."

Both of us watched as the Pastor made his way downstairs.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked.

"Dean… please…" Sammy said and his eyes darted around the hallway as though looking at invisible enemies.

"Let's go sit in your room," I suggested and held out a hand without touching Sam, "you'll be more comfortable there."

Sam let me shepherd him to his bedroom and he sat down on the bed but didn't look at me. My brother put his hands in his lap and stared at me expectantly as though I was one of the doctors at Alexander's about to have an appointment with him. If Dr. Calhoun could do the whole 'and-how-does-that-make-you-feel?' routine so could I.

"What did you and Jenny talk about?" I asked, trying to sound casual and not like I was interrogating my brother.

Sam shrugged, "she asked me where I've been."

He began wringing his hands together nervously.

"I told her I was with you the whole time- that we were seeing the sights: Mount Rushmore, the Lincoln Memorial, you know," Sam said quickly as though I'd be angry at him for lying.

"You did good, Sammy," I told my brother.

Sam lowered his head, pulled down the sleeves of his shirt and muttered something I didn't catch.

"Sam, do you want to talk? Just me and you… about Meg? I'll listen if you want to talk," I leaned forward and tried to smile reassuringly.

Sam bit his lip and shook his head.

"C'mon Sammy, you can't hold it in forever. You gotta talk about it and I know it's painful but just pretend I'm one of the docs that at Alexander's or something," I tried.

Sam still didn't look up but muttered, "You don't know."

"What?" I asked my brother.

"You don't know anything about it, Dean," Sam extrapolated, still speaking quietly.

I sat back, "than tell me about it, tell me how it is."

Now Sam looked up at me and I saw that his green eyes were dark.

"You want to know, Dean? You really want to know?" he spoke in a whisper.

I hesitated a moment, "yeah."

Instead of answering, Sam pulled at his shirt, yanking it up over his head with some difficulty- the cast on his wrist and the splints on his fingers making his movements awkward- and dropped the shirt on the bed.

I had never seen Sam's scars before and my mouth gaped open in shock.

The first thing I noticed was how thin Sam still was. I could see his ribs and I was sure I'd be able to see his shoulder blades and count the knobs of his spine when I got a look at his back.

There were scars on his chest and abdomen, I couldn't be sure what had made them- there was no discernible pattern- but if I had to take a stab at it, I'd say they were made by a knife or dagger (no pun intended).

A number of the scars were pinkish and puckered-looking.

Burns, I thought and held back a shudder.

The worst scars were on his back, without a doubt. From the nape of his neck to the small of his back were dozens of white, horizontal lines of scar tissue. There were also more of those burn scars too.

I clenched my hands into fists and Sam looked at me sheepishly now.

"S'not your fault Sammy," I told my brother as I helped him put his shirt back on.

"They were worse before, I guess… before they healed," Sam muttered.

No wonder Sam had been so self-conscious, I thought, and ground my teeth in frustrated anger.

I sighed, calming down somewhat.

"Let's get some dinner," I muttered and stood, allowing Sam to go first. I wasn't even hungry but I knew Sam should eat something, especially if he was going to take his medication.

My brother moved slowly, like a man in a dream and I followed along behind him, watching him carefully. I was worried about him, I didn't know how he was coping at all but after locking himself in Jim's bathroom for hours I could guess it wasn't too well.

As Sam and I passed said bathroom I peered into it from the corner of my eye- and cringed- the shower curtain had been torn down, the mirror had been broken and the cupboard doors were open, their contents strewn everywhere- wondering what exactly Sam had been doing in there.

I would not ask my brother about it though. I had learned long ago not to question any strange behavior because more often than not Sam acted the way he did as a result of his illness. It wouldn't be his fault anyway. On the other hand, I would have to talk to Jim about my brother. I wondered if the old preacher's offer to take care of Sam while I was away still stood.

The three hunters watched us as we entered the kitchen but did not say a word.

I had Sam sit down and glanced apologetically at Jim- 'I'll clean up later' I mouthed behind my brother's back.

Jim, great guy that he is, had a pot of cream of mushroom soup simmering away for Sam's dinner.

"Thanks," I muttered to the Pastor and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, thought about it and grabbed a second one for myself.

I grabbed ladle from the drawer and spooned some soup into the bowls. I looked questioningly at the three hunters.

"We already ate, but don't worry about us," Bobby indicated to Rufus and himself.

"Jim?" I asked and the Pastor shook his head.

"Looks like it's gonna be dinner for two, Sammy," I said with a half-hearted smile.

I set the two bowls down on the table and grabbed a couple of spoons from the drawer.

I stirred my soup around- not really in the mood to eat- and wondered if the hunters had found anything on the two demons.

Sam mimicked my action, stirring his soup around, the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl.

"Sam, eat your soup," I told my brother and ate a few mouthfuls of my own soup.

My brother complied, albeit slowly, and didn't complain even though I was sure he was tired of soft foods- soup and pudding and Jell-O and applesauce.

Bobby and Rufus left the kitchen but Jim stayed. The Pastor watched my brother as he ate and I wondered what he was thinking.

"Look, Jim, I'm sorry about earlier… Sam sometimes…just-" I began but Jim raised a hand.

"You don't have to explain, Dean, I understand," Jim interrupted before I could continue and indeed I saw a look of understanding and compassion in his eyes.

"Y-you're not mad a-at me?" Sam stuttered.

The Pastor shook his head, "the bathroom can be repaired. I am not worried about those trivial things. I am worried about you though, Sam."

"Me?" Sam asked as though surprised.

Jim nodded, "we're friends, are we not?"

Sam thought for a moment, "I guess so."

"So, I don't like to see any of my friends in pain and that goes for you too" Jim spoke quietly as though he and my brother were the only two people in the kitchen, "I understand that you went through something horrible and I understand that you will need time to heal and as long as you are under my roof, you need not be worried that I will be angry at you."

Sam looked down at his soup sheepishly, a little embarrassed, I think.

"You deal with this any way you need to Sam," Jim said and I was intensely grateful that Bobby had introduced this guy to my brother and I.

"Yes sir," Sam muttered and went back to his dinner.

Wow Jim, I thought, that was a little epic.

SPN

Sam felt bad about the bathroom. He hadn't meant to destroy it, really, he hadn't. He was just so scared and frustrated. He was in pain and he didn't know how to make it stop.

After he had eaten his fill of the soup and Dean had taken the dirty dishes away they went into the living room but Dean left to talk to Bobby and Rufus, leaving him alone with Pastor Jim.

Sam watched the holy man fiddle with the gramophone until the soft piano notes of 'Clair De Lune' began to play and Jim sat down on the couch with a contented sigh.

"Do you like classical music, Sam?" he asked curiously.

Sam shrugged, "they play it sometimes at Alexander's… say its supposed to be calming or something."

Jim nodded and gave a small smile, "this is one of my favourites."

Sam liked this song too. It was better than Beethoven's fifth which was loud and tremendous.

Jim's eyes slid closed and Sam sat quietly in the chair he'd claimed as his own, listening to the nimble-fingered Claude Debussy.

Sam missed Jenny, it had been good to hear her voice, but he did not miss Alexander's. Maybe that's the best thing that's come out of all this, Sam thought tentatively, I'm not trapped in that place anymore.

Still Sam felt trapped though- it was hard for him to understand or even explain to himself- but he felt as though he was being held captive by some unknown force.

Sam knew if he spoke like that at Alexander's Dr. Calhoun would just prescribe him more medicine and tell him to go to extra group meetings.

Sam hated group meetings, he didn't like having to sit in a circle and listen to the other patients speak about things that didn't really concern him. The topics were usually things like 'what makes you happy' or 'what's your favourite activity here'.

Being with his family- with his Mom and Dad and brother- made Sam happy. He cherished the rare times when he'd been well enough to visit his brother or his parents- usually on the holidays like Thanksgiving. He didn't like any of the scheduled activities they had at Alexander's, he'd be perfectly content to sit all day and sketch what he wanted to- he hated having that art teacher they brought in telling him what to draw! He hated how she acted like they were a bunch of children, simpering over them, while all the time Sam's grip on his pen grew tighter and tighter until he simply walked out and went back to his room so he could sketch in peace.

Sam knew Dr. Calhoun didn't like it when he left in the middle of whatever activity the patients had been involved in. Sam didn't care. He may be sick but he refused to be treated like he was in Kindergarten. Sometimes Sam had to get away from other people because the voices were telling him to do bad things, things he knew he'd get into serious trouble for if he did as they demanded.

Sam knew when the doctor wasn't happy with him: she would sort of puff out, narrow her eyes, a vertical line forming between her eyebrows and speak in a sickly sweet tone.

Sam could count on both hands the number of times Dr. Calhoun had been really unhappy with him. It usually had to do with the fact that he didn't involve himself with the stuff going on at Alexander's- the activities or group meetings- and she'd lecture on the importance of both things, how both were designed to help make him better.

But Sam seriously didn't see it that way. In his opinion, both were a waste of time and he'd rather stay in his room all day drawing instead of socializing like he was supposed to.

He jumped a little when Jim gave a little snort in his sleep. Debussy just kept playing over and over again but Sam didn't really mind.

Sam smiled when Dean appeared from down the hall, Bobby and Rufus following behind him.

"Did you bore Jim that much?" his brother asked, taking in the sight of the sleeping Pastor.

Sam shrugged, "he's old and you know how seniors like to sleep a lot."

Dean grinned and Sam smiled back. Bobby chuckled and Rufus gave Jim's shoulder a shake, "c'mon old man, defend yourself here."

Jim sat up, blinking and scratched his close-cropped beard.

"Turn off that sissy music, Jim," Rufus instructed.

Jim raised an eyebrow, "sissy music, eh? Debussy is not a sissy."

"Oh yeah?" Rufus folded his arms over his chest but had a playful look on his face.

"What about Wagner then? The last time I played 'Ride of the Valkyries' I remember you telling me it was great, better than any music nowadays," Jim taunted.

Rufus grumbled something and told Jim he could keep the record playing if he wanted.

Sam and Dean laughed, Bobby chuckled and Rufus growled but in a good-natured way.

"Jim, can I talk to you for a minute," Dean said and Jim nodded, leaving Sam with Rufus and Bobby.

The two hunters were slightly awkward- Sam could sense their tension- and busied themselves with fickle things, trying not to pay attention to him.

"If I knew where they were going, I would tell you," Sam spoke up quietly, barely even above a whisper.

The two hunters didn't reply and Sam wasn't even sure if they had heard him. It didn't really matter anyway- they were already aware that he knew nothing.

Sam wondered what his brother and Jim were talking about. Me probably, he reasoned. He didn't know what Dean was going to do with him. Sam knew that his brother wanted to go after Meg and Barclay but he was afraid of Dean sending him back to Alexander's.

I can't go back there, Sam thought, not after everything that's happened. How would he explain his whereabouts of the past three months? How would he explain the scars?

If I go back I know there's no chance of getting out anytime soon, Sam realized, Dr. Calhoun will never let me leave.

Sam lowered his head at the thought of staying at Alexander's for the rest of his life. The thought terrified him- he knew that some of the other patients had been there for a long, long time but he didn't want to be, couldn't be one of those people- and decided that if Dean tried to take him back to Alexander's he'd beg to stay with Dad (even though his father hadn't seen him in months) which was better than the hospital.

Sam's heart leapt into his throat when Dean and Jim returned. His brother was smiling and the Pastor looked thoughtful.

"Sammy," Dean made his way over to him and crouched down, leaning his forearms on the chair's arms.

"Bobby and Rufus and I are going to see if we can track down Meg and Barclay," Dean explained.

Sam waited for his brother to drop the bomb.

"I was thinking, and I talked to Jim about this too… and if you're okay with it, we were thinking you could stay here while I'm gone," Dean said, hazel eyes sparkling with hope.

Sam was stunned for a moment, "I'd like that."

Dean ruffled his hair and stood, "we're not leaving yet, gotta find those two first. I just didn't want to spring it on you unexpectedly though. And I was thinking that maybe you could get to know Jim some more, just so you're comfortable with this before we make any hasty decisions."

SPN

I was glad when Sam agreed to my suggestion. It released a lot of stress. I was worried that Sam wouldn't want to be alone with a practical stranger but he surprised me. I supposed I shouldn't have worried too much about it- really; Sam was with strangers all the time at Alexander's, never being around people who really understood him, except for Jenny, maybe. I knew Sam wouldn't want to go back to the hospital and I didn't want him to. He had barely any friends there and acted as though he was a prisoner instead of a patient. Dr. Calhoun saw Sam only as a walking, talking case of paranoid schizophrenia; not the intelligent, sensitive, caring young man he was. I hoped Sam would never have to set foot in that place again, if it could be helped.

The next morning I woke up at the early hour of ten a.m. and made my way down the hall to Sam's bedroom, still half asleep and eager for some breakfast.

I saw that the door was ajar and I knocked my knuckles against the wood, quietly.

"Hey, Sammy, Wakey Wakey Eggs n' Bakey," I muttered, using the greeting that hadn't passed my lips since my brother and I were kids.

I frowned when no reply issued forth, "Sammy?"

I pushed the door open and saw that the bed, with sheets a rumpled mess, was empty.

My gaze quickly left the guest bedroom and snapped to the bathroom- cleaned up by none other than myself last night- but my frown grew when I saw that it too was unoccupied.

Shit, I thought, now jolted awake by panic, where is he?

I stomped down the stairs; saw Bobby and Rufus sitting in the living room drinking tea or coffee.

"Where's the fire?" Rufus asked.

"Is Sam down here?" I asked, looking into the kitchen although I could see that no one was in there.

"S'alright Dean," Bobby rumbled, "Sam n' Jim are at church."

I blinked, "Church?"

"Jim's a Pastor- it ain't just a title," Bobby answered sarcastically.

I stood dumfounded. As I've said before, I've only been in church a handful of times, mostly when it had to do with work, and I was pretty sure Sam had only attended once or twice because Jessica had been into all of that stuff.

"Oh," I said, trying to imagine my large brother sitting in a pew among all those die-hard Protestants.

"They'll be along soon," Bobby assured me, "want some tea?"

"Sure," I sat down on the chair beside the gramophone and took the offered cup of Darjeeling.

I'll admit I was anxious for Sam to return. I didn't want him out of my sight, especially with Meg and Barclay running rampant. Who knew? Maybe the bitch would want to finish whatever it was she had started.

When the front door of Jim's home opened and my brother ducked inside I set my tea aside and went to him immediately.

Sam was wearing jeans, sneakers and a grey hoodie- he was practically hiding in the large sweater- but he smiled when he saw me.

"Was it casual Sunday today or something?" I asked and Sam shrank deeper into the sweater, embarrassed.

Jim chuckled good-naturedly, "We're not on a strict dress code here, Dean. I told Sam to wear whatever he felt comfortable in."

I nodded, "S'okay Sammy. You want some tea?"

My brother nodded and followed me into the living room. I offered Sam the seat he seemed to favour- the chair beside the gramophone- and poured him some tea.

Jim was right behind us and got himself a cup of tea as well.

"Well, aren't we all one big, happy family?" I joked, peering around at the Pastor, the two hunters and my brother.

Jim chuckled but before he could say another word my cell phone trilled out 'Smoke on the Water' from within my pocket- even here, I was never without my phone- and checked the caller ID. It was Dad!

"Shit," I muttered, and then louder, "It's our father."

What the hell does he want now?

I looked around at the hunters, "Should I answer?"

Jim nodded. Sam was watching me intently- not having heard from Dad since before Mom's funeral- I guess he was curious as to why our father was calling now.

I let the phone ring two more times before I flipped it open.

"I told you not to call me again," I hissed into the receiver.

I heard Dad grunt "Is that any way to talk to your father?"

"I'm not kidding around Dad," I snapped, "This is serious!"

"I know this is Dean," Dad answered, "And I know why you're doing this… Listen, I know I've been a dick for a while but… I want to see Sam."

I didn't say anything. I heard Dad take a deep breath, "I know you think I'm a shitty parent but I want to make things right… It's what Mary would want."

I raised an eyebrow. What Mom would want? Now, after months of making up paper thin excuses not to visit Sam, Dad wants his Father of the Year Award?

"I don't think so," I said slowly.

I peered at Jim and mouthed 'speaker phone?'

The Pastor nodded and I took the phone away from my ear, pressing the button so when Dad spoke next, his voice filled the tiny living room.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Dad spoke as though considering his words carefully.

You've been thinking, I thought shrewdly, that doesn't sound the John Winchester way of doing things.

"And I know I haven't been fair to Sam," Dad continued, "I haven't taken his feelings into account-"

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?" I snapped. Four pairs of eyes turned to me but no one spoke.

"Dean, what are you talking about? I'm trying to turn over a new leaf here! It's hard for me too, you know!" Dad answered my angry question.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I scoffed, "Did you ever think about how hard it was for Sam to spend Christmas in Alexander's? Alone? Or how he couldn't even attend Mom's funeral because Dr. Calhoun advised against it, said it'd be too traumatic for him and might set him back in his treatment?"

I didn't care that the three hunters were listening in. They knew the summarized version of Sam's history at Alexander's.

Sam's eyes grew large and I saw them glisten wetly. I knew it hurt my brother to be trapped in that hospital while the Dad and Mom and I, his family, came and went as we pleased. I had made a point of seeing Sam on every holiday, especially on Christmas and on his birthdays but it was only really a token gesture as I would leave after a few hours and Sammy would always remain.

"I'm trying Dean! I really am! I joined a group for parents whose kids have mental illnesses and it's helped me see things differently," Dad insisted.

I didn't really believe my father; I was sure he would say anything to get what he wanted because he was that kind of person.

"Please, Dean," Dad sounded like he was begging, "Let me try. If I'm an asshole you can kick me out, okay?"

I thought. I looked at Sam- I peered carefully at my brother, looking so small in that oversized hoodie- a hopeful but anxious expression on his face.

"Jim? What about you?" I had to ask the Pastor, it was his place, after all.

"If he's trouble, do we have your permission to deal with him our way?" Jim asked, barely speaking above a whisper so neither Sam nor Dad would be able to hear.

I nodded. Bobby and Rufus didn't look pleased, "This is up to you, boy," and I turned back to the cell phone:

"Okay, we're at Blue Earth, Minnesota."

"What are you doing there?" Dad asked.

"We're with friends. How long 'til you get here?" I spoke in a no-nonsense tone.

"About a day. What-" Dad began but I turned off the phone.

"He can call when he gets here," I answered the questioning looks, "I don't want to give him any ideas."

I looked at Sam. The poor kid was trembling.

"Sammy, you okay?" I asked and moved to his side, anxiety weighing heavy in my chest.

Sam nodded, really more like jerked his head up and down once, but I wasn't fooled.

"Hey, if this is about Dad I can call the whole thing off," I reached out slowly for one of my brother's hands but he drew it into the sleeve of his sweater and folded his arms across his chest.

I should get Sam his meds, I thought but didn't move.

Jim looked at my brother with a worried expression, "Is he alright, Dean?"

I shook my head; I didn't know.

"Sammy, c'mon, I can call Dad right now and tell him it's not going to work," I spoke up, nervous that Sam wasn't responding.

Jim stood up and headed into the kitchen. I couldn't see what he was doing but I heard him run water from the tap at the sink and the snick of bottles opening. He was getting Sam's medicine.

The Pastor returned and tipped the pills into my waiting hand, placing the glass of water on the table beside the gramophone.

I plucked out two pills from the bunch and held them out to my brother, "Take these Sammy, they'll make you feel better."

Sam took the pills, washing them down with the water and after that he seemed to calm down a bit. I had to remember that as well as being held captive by a sadistic bitch demon, Sam was still running on Alexander's time- he'd be attune to the schedule of the hospital and anything out of the ordinary messed with him.

"I'll make you some toast… you haven't eaten breakfast right?" I stood and stopped in the kitchen doorway to ask the question.

Sam shook his head but otherwise didn't answer.

Jim followed me and sat at the table while I made the toast. I figured I should start Sam eating solid foods again and thought that the change would make him feel better.

I slathered the toast with butter and jam- some strawberry preserve a lady from Jim's flock had made for him- and brought the plate out to my brother.

Sam looked at me curiously.

"What? I said I'd make you toast," I said and handed him the food, "You don't want to eat baby food for the rest of your life, do you?"

"No," Sam shook his head and ate the toast slowly, chewing thoroughly before swallowing.

"This is really good, Jim," Sam commented of the jam.

Jim chuckled, "I can't take credit for it. Dolores always sends me over about a dozen jars of the stuff because I'd once made an offhand compliment about it."

Sam nodded and appeared to be enjoying his breakfast. I was glad; he seemed to be getting over whatever had been bothering him earlier.

He's just nervous about seeing Dad. I didn't have to remind myself that Dad hadn't seen Sammy in months and the last time he had, well, let's just say it wasn't a pleasant visit.

W

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. I left Sam in the living room with his notebooks and a pencil, sketching and seeming content to be in his own little world.

I didn't speak to my brother, preferring to leave him alone, let him settle down. Jim sat in the living room, across from my brother on the couch, a collection of Alfred Lord Tennyson's poetry on his lap.

Bobby, Rufus and I walked down the long driveway and the road that led to the church.

The black hunter had called up some of his friends who were near Maryland and asked them to keep their eyes open for anyone meeting the description of Meg and Barclay.

"Nuthin' yet," Rufus shook his head, "But you never know."

"Ah Rufus, if those demons had any lick of sense in 'em they'd be miles away from Strathmore by now," Bobby commented.

I nodded. From my limited knowledge of demons, I guessed it made sense.

"Then where could they be?" I asked and the two hunters shrugged.

"Don't be too eager to get your revenge, boy," Rufus cautioned but I interrupted.

"This isn't about revenge, Rufus! This is making sure that bitch never hurts another person like she did to Sam!" I exclaimed and ran a hand through my hair.

"We've told ya before, we know that Dean but Meg and Barclay aren't gonna line up for ya to exorcise them," Bobby growled, his expression shrewd.

"Be patient, boy," Rufus spoke in a calmer voice, "let us take care of the demons, you take care of Sam. You'll be the first to know if we find anything."

We'd had this same conversation before and I knew that the demons wouldn't just come to me but I hated sitting around and waiting for someone else to find them. I was a cop, a beat cop, and that meant I rarely sat on my ass and let somebody else take care of things.

I nodded and rubbed my face with my hands, "Let's just see how this visit from Dad goes before I do anything."

We wandered back to the rectory and I checked on Sam- he was still drawing in his book- and Pastor Jim, who had switched from the Tennyson to some Wordsworth.

"Hey Sam, how you doing?" I asked my brother. Sam peered up at me, shook some hair from his eyes and went back to sketching.

"What're you drawing?" I asked, hoping it wasn't Barclay again, or Meg.

Sam shrugged as though it didn't really matter. I peered over and saw it was a girl I didn't recognize.

Huh, probably some patient from Alexander's. I looked up, "Want some tea, Jim? I'm making."

The Pastor raised his head as though he hadn't realized I was in the room.

"That'd be fine, Dean," he smiled and closed the collection he'd been pursuing.

Bobby and Rufus had made themselves comfortable in the living room and looked at me expectantly.

"What do you think I am, the maid?" I asked indignantly but with a small smile. For a trio of guys I'd only met three months ago- and not in the best circumstances either- I was really getting attached to them.

I made the tea though, put the teapot on a tray along with five cups and made my way back to the living room.

I offered Sam tea first. Okay, well I didn't so much as offer as I poured some into a cup and set it on the table beside him. Sam didn't even look up as I preformed the task.

"Who's that Sam? One of the church-goers?" I asked in a curious tone.

I wouldn't have been surprised if my brother was sketching some girl he'd seen at Pastor Jim's church, Sam had a photographic memory when it came to peoples' faces.

My brother though, shook his head; "I've been dreaming about her."

I gave my brother a goofy grin, nudging him with my elbow, "She the girl of your dream, Sammy?"

My brother looked at me sharply, "No!"

The smile faded from my face, I had forgotten all about the tea I had made. I just stood there like an idiot with the tray in my hands.

I swallowed the fear rising up within me, "She not… she isn't with Meg, is she?"

Oh God, if there was another demon I was going to flip shit.

"No," Sam said quietly, "Not anymore."

The three hunters perked up, "What do you mean 'not anymore'?"

Sam ducked his head, embarrassed now and muttered something I couldn't hear.

I set the tray on the coffee table and gripped Sam's shoulder- he tensed at the contact but I didn't let go- and lowered my head so I could look into his eyes.

"Sammy, what's going on with you?" I asked but he refused to answer any more questions. He closed the notebook and stared up at me with an irritated expression as though I was disturbing him. I sighed and motioned to the tea tray on the table, "Have at it."

The three hunters poured themselves tea and I just stared at my brother as though he was a stranger. I wanted him to speak to me but he shut up tighter than a clam's asshole if I prodded too much.

"I'm gonna go work on the Impala, Bobby," I muttered and ran a hand through my hair. If Sam wanted me to know something he'd tell me, just not when I wanted to know it. The kid would talk to me when he was good and ready.

"I'll come with ya," Bobby, still holding his cup of tea, followed me outside and into Pastor Jim's backyard where the car was sitting propped up on cinderblocks.

The Impala was looking a whole lot better than it had in that police evidence locker. The broken windows had been replaced; the passenger side door was attached to the car again I couldn't help but smile when I saw it. This, this was something I could fix. Even if I didn't really have to know-how, Bobby was there to guide me through it and it felt good to be able to repair some of the damage done by the demons- even if was only to the car.

I set a hand on the Impala's still-crumpled front end, "If only Sammy was this easy to put back together."

Bobby grunted; I had almost forgotten he was with me.

"Don't beat yerself up over it, Dean. The car's just pieces of metal and machinery, Sam's a flesh and blood human who had something terrible happen to him- it'll take time and care to get yer brother back onto his feet but I've no doubt you'll be able to do it."

I smiled faintly at the hunter's words of wisdom. That was one of the most positive things anyone had ever said about Sam since this whole mess started- not just with the demons but at Alexander's too- I mean, Dr. Calhoun could quote her statistics and theorize about mental illness and stuff Sam full of medications but she didn't really get Sam, didn't take the time to understand him. Bobby and Rufus and especially Jim seemed to have a keen understanding of what my brother needed, even though they had probably never dealt with someone with schizophrenia before.

I sighed and stared at the Impala.

I was nervous about Dad coming over. I didn't know what he was up to. I didn't know if his intentions were pure. I guessed I just had to keep an eye on him and Sam.

Speaking of Sam, I decided to go and see how my brother was doing. Hopefully he'd calmed down somewhat, maybe even enough to talk.

Bobby followed me inside and made himself busy by going into the kitchen and fiddling around with the kettle for more tea.

Jim was still in the living room but Rufus was nowhere to be seen. Sam was seated right where I'd left him- his cup of tea untouched- sketching in his notebook again.

I crouched down beside my brother's chair, "Hey Sammy."

"Hi," Sam replied faintly. I peered over his shoulder and saw that he was drawing Pastor Jim.

"How are you feeling?" I asked and Sam shrugged. I took that as good.

"Do you, uh, want to talk about the girl?" I asked and Sam looked up at me.

"I don't know her name," Sam spoke as though he'd get in trouble for speaking about the girl.

"That's okay," I said, "Do you know why… Meg wanted her?"

Bobby made his way into the room and took a seat beside Jim- both men now listened intently to the conversation. Maybe they'd be able to find out something new about the demons.

Sam shook his head, "I think she was like me."

"Was? Is she-" I was about to ask if the girl was dead but I decided that wouldn't go over well with Sam so I rephrased it, "Is she okay?"

Sam shrugged, "I saw a big house."

I nodded encouragingly, having no idea what my brother was talking about. He was the only one Bobby and I had found in that dungeon of a basement but it seemed possible there had been other victims there at the same time. Sam had been captive for a long time.

"Did Meg say anything to her?" I asked carefully.

Sam bit his lip and shook his head; nothing important, then.

"I'm kind of tired, Dean," Sam said and closed his notebook and set it beside the gramophone.

"Okay," I said and stood, ready to take Sam upstairs.

I tucked my brother under the covers even though he was still wearing the hoodie- he'd refused to remove it when I'd offered- and I couldn't help but notice how small he looked.

I moved to toward the hall and left the door ajar.

"I'll just be in the living room if you need me," I said but Sam half-sat up.

"Stay with me, please," Sam begged and I acquiesced.

I sat down on the floor across from the bed, my back against the wall and my eyes on my brother.

"Go to sleep now," I said and leaned my head back.

Sam lay back down and stared at me for a moment before closing his eyes. His breathing slowed down and after waiting for a moment or two, I stood up.

I needed to talk with the hunters about the demons and probably about my Dad as well. I sighed. Sam should be used to sleeping by himself and didn't think anything more about it as I silently crept downstairs.

SPN

Sam heard Dean leave but he didn't call out to him like he wanted to. He was afraid to go to sleep because of the nightmares he had. He didn't want to tell Dean about them and hoped the medicine Dr. Campion had prescribed would make them go away. Dean was already worried about him enough; Sam didn't want his brother to think he needed to go back to Alexander's.

Sam didn't sleep right away. He couldn't stop thinking about his Dad. He was nervous that John was coming to see them.

What was Dean going to tell their Dad? Could he keep up the 'vacation' ruse?

Sam knew that Dad was going to ask questions- a lot of questions- and he wondered if Dean would be able to answer them all.

He wondered if Dad was really serious about seeing him more often. It wasn't like Sam hated his father- far from it- but Sam didn't like the way his father had looked at him the last few times he'd visited Alexander's. Sam may have a mental illness but he wasn't stupid- he could clearly see that John did not want to be at the hospital. He could see the disappointed, angry expression on John's face and it made him sick. Why couldn't John just accept him as he was? Mom did, Dean did; so why not Dad?

Maybe Dad really has changed, Sam thought. It had been years since he'd been forced to leave school, after Jessica's murder- everyone said it was an accident but he knew better- and it seemed like John had been avoiding him for long enough.

Dad sounded sincere on the phone, Sam reminded himself.

Sam yawned widely and blinked. He looked around the room and his gaze settled on the crucifix above the bed. Sam smiled.

He curled up more tightly under the blankets, reached a hand up and pulled the hood of the sweater down over his face and closed his eyes. Sam knew that Dean would think it was silly but knowing that there was a higher power, someone who cared about him no matter who his was or what he did made Sam feel better.

Sam remembered Pastor Jim's sermon from church that morning, about God and how He was always with the faithful and unfaithful alike. Sam may not have been a religious person but he took comfort in Jim's words and his assurance that God was compassionate and loving and forgiving…

Sam sat alone in the darkness. He had gotten used to it. He liked it. When it was dark it meant that Meg and Barclay stayed away. He had learned to hate the light.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

Sam curled around himself. His ribs hurt but it wasn't really that bad. His head throbbed with pain but he was used to it by now.

Sam didn't mind the silence either. He imagined he could almost hear his heart beating in his chest and he often listened to the rhythmic sound of his own breathing until he fell asleep, it reminded him of a clock ticking or the metronome that sat atop the piano in his Mom and Dad's living room.

His breath caught in his throat when the yellow light overhead suddenly came on. Sam stared wide-eyed in the direction of the door before scrambling to a corner of the room and crouching there, hands over his head.

"No, not again, please, please not again," Sam begged as the sound of the door opening caused him to curl even tighter and shake with fear.

"Sammy," Meg's sing-song voice chirped out and Sam wished he would become invisible.

He felt Barclay's meaty fist clamp around his forearm and drag him forward.

Sam scrabbled for purchase but there was nothing to hold onto.

"Aw Sammy, I thought you'd be happy to have some company," Meg taunted in a mocking voice.

"Le- leave me-e alone," Sam stuttered and tears welled up in his eyes.

"Now now Sammy, don't be like that," Meg chastised, a grin on her features and Sam started.

He could have sworn the woman's eyes had flashed completely pitch-black for an instant before turning back to their regular brown.

"We just want to have a little fun," Meg continued as though nothing unusual had occurred.

"I-I don't w-wanna have f-f-fun," Sam stammered, he knew what Meg considered 'fun' only ended up causing him pain.

Meg placed her fists on her hips, "Did you hear that Barclay? Sammy-boy doesn't want to play."

The large man nodded but remained silent.

"Oh well, I guess it'll be down to business then," Meg said in an accepting tone.

"N-no, I'll do a-anything you want just d-don't hurt me!" Sam cried out in vain.

Meg shook her head, "Sorry Sammy, you lost the chance. Too bad though, I was looking forward to playing… Oh well, I guess this could be fun too."

Sam saw that Barclay had brought a length of rope with him and the boy began backing away.

"No, n-no please," Sam begged, eyes darting from the woman and back to the man.

"Here Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Meg beckoned with a hand as she mocked the boy.

Sam knew there was no way he could escape. He was trapped in the windowless basement with only one locked door between him and freedom but still he backed away from Meg and Barclay, trying to hide in the shadows.

"Playing hard to get," Meg said and Sam thought she was speaking to her large partner.

"L-leave me a-alone! G-go awayyy!" Sam cried out and struggled when he felt Meg grab his hoodie and tug at it.

Sam threw punches at the woman but they seemed to have no effect on her whatsoever. She easily pinned Sam on the ground, sitting on his back and almost purred with pleasure.

"Now we can do this the hard way or we can do this the easy way," Meg ran a hand through Sam's sweat-damp hair and the young man whimpered.

"P-please d-don't hurt me," Sam begged.

The woman appeared to ignore the plea and instead gave him an order.

"Take off the shirt," Meg hissed. She felt the young man stiffen beneath her with fear and she smiled, still stroking the boy's hair as though he were a child or a lover.

"W-why?" Sam muttered, one cheek pressed against the cold cement floor.

"Because I don't want it to get dirty," Meg answered sarcastically.

Sam knew something very bad was about to happen to him so he refused to comply.

He gasped as Meg grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, his neck protesting the awkward position. Sam could feel his pulse throbbing in his throat.

"Meg," Sam heard Barclay's rough voice illicit the one word warning to the woman.

She let go of Sam's head and he let it thump down onto the floor, his neck aching from the mistreatment.

Meg stood up and stepped over him but crouched down, "Be a good boy and do as you're told, you can do that can't you? You don't argue when one of those pathetic doctors tell you to do something, do you?"

Sam mutely shook his head. Meg reached down and cupped his chin in her hand, fingers squeezing tightly, "Than do it."

Shaking, Sam sat up and complied. He pulled the sweater up over his head and shivered at the temperature difference.

Tears streamed down Sam's face despite his effort to hold them back and Meg peered at him with a mockingly sympathetic expression.

The woman took hold of one of Sam's wrists as Barclay approached with the rope.

Sam wished more than anything that Dean would burst through the door and save him.

Meg looked down and her eyes narrowed for a moment before a peal of laughter bubbled from her lips.

Barclay stared at the woman, confused by her reaction.

"Look!" Meg said and turned Sam's arm over, showing her partner the thin scars criss-crossing the inside of his wrist.

Barclay raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Sammy-boy, you really are something, aren't you?" Meg asked.

Sam realized what the woman was looking at and drew his free hand to his chest protectively. He wasn't proud of what he'd done and he hated for anyone to see the scars.

"Don't you know that suicide will earn you a one-way ticket Downstairs?" Meg asked, eyes glinting with gleeful malice.

"Bit melodramatic though? Thought men preferred to go out the messy way," Meg mused, clearly enjoying the topic far too much.

Barclay cleared his throat and raised the coil of rope as though reminding the tiny woman of the purpose of their 'visit' to Sam.

Wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, Meg suddenly turned from morbidly merry to deadly serious in seconds flat.

No longer chuckling, Meg tightened her grip on Sam's arm as Barclay took hold of the boy's free one and began tying his hands together…

Sam woke drenched in cold sweat. His clothes clung to him like a second skin and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Sam jerked in shock when he heard a terrible keening noise and covered his ears to try and block it out only to realize the sound was coming from him.

He started when his brother rushed into the room, a look of terror on his face.

"Sam!" Dean landed beside Sam on the bed and grabbed him in a tight hug.

"Sammy, Sammy," Dean cooed, "It's okay, you're safe, no one's going to hurt you here."

Sam shut his mouth and leaned into his brother. He was shaking badly and he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Jesus Christ, Sam, you scared the shit out of me," Dean muttered and reached up to smooth down his brother's damp, disheveled hair.

Sam gave an unintelligible cry and shoved away from Dean. He knew it was his brother and not Meg but he couldn't help it, he just reacted.

Dean's hurt expression made Sam feel like an idiot and he moved closer to his brother again.

"M'sorry," Sam muttered, barely opening his mouth to speak.

Dean didn't reply but decided to rub his brother's back gently, instead.

Sam's eyes were half-closed, roving around the room when he saw that the window panes had spider web-like cracks in them, the crucifix had fallen from its nail and the dresser drawers seemed to have been thrown open.

"Wh-what hap-happened?" Sam asked and cringed, hating the fact that he was stuttering.

"Dunno Sammy, just heard you crying out and I ran in," Dean moved to peer around the room as well.

Sam saw that vertical line appear between his brother's eyebrows- that same line that appeared every Dean was troubled by something- and he pressed his face into Dean's shoulder.

SPN

What the fuck was going on? Of course I realized that Sam would have nightmares- he had been prone to them ever since he was a little kid- but when I heard that awful wail coming from upstairs I thought I'd have a heart attack, I had never heard anything like it before and hoped that I never would again.

God damn Meg and Barclay. God damn them for what they'd done to my brother.

I wondered what else that bitch and her lackey had done to Sam beside the physical torture.

I comforted my brother as best I could, feeling very inadequate for the job, but I must have done something right because soon I felt my brother's breathing slow and his tense muscles go limp.

"There ya go," I muttered, "You're okay Sammy, you're safe here. We're not gonna let anything hurt you."

I placed my hands on either side of Sam's face, wiping away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks.

I brushed a hand over his bangs and Sam shuddered but gave a wan smile, trying to pull himself together.

Pastor Jim peered into the room with a concerned, curious expression and I nodded to let him know it was okay to come in.

The hunter kept his distance but it was clear he was worried about Sam.

"It was just a nightmare, Jim, nothing we can't handle, eh Sammy?" I told the Pastor and Sam nodded.

Jim looked around the room, no doubt taking note of the small disturbances but he said nothing about them.

"Dean, maybe you should call your father back and tell him not to come," Jim spoke quietly.

I shook my head, "He'll already be on his way and he'll just ignore me. Dad's stubborn like that."

Jim sighed and rubbed a hand over his close-cropped beard. He looked at Sam as though trying to decide what to do with him.

I peered around the room again, my eyes drawn in particular to the window with its cracks. Like at the hospital, I thought. The drawers and the fallen crucifix could be explained, Sam could have done messed with that stuff either intentionally or no but the window… I didn't see any way my brother could have broken the panes like that.

I looked at Sam, checking his expression to see if there was even the faintest trace of guilt there but I only saw fear.

"Aw Sammy, it'll be okay," I assured him, "We're not mad, we're worried about you."

"I- I didn't d-do that D-dean," Sam stammered, looking around the room himself.

Pastor Jim cocked an eyebrow, apparently thinking the same thing I was- that Sam had taken his anger out on the room, liked he'd done when he'd locked himself in the bathroom.

"I w-was sleeping the w-whole time," Sam shook his head and gave me the 'puppy eyes'.

"Okay Sammy, I believe you," I said and pushed myself off the bed.

My brother looked up at me expectantly.

"I think you've had a long enough nap," I told him and reached down the help him up, "Why don't you come downstairs with us?"

So I can keep an eye on you, I thought. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't know if Sam was lying to me or not but I felt like I needed to get to the bottom of this, sooner rather than later. I wasn't about to forget that my brother, despite the traumatic two months he'd suffered at the hands of a pair of demons, he was still mentally ill and his perception of reality, right and wrong may not exactly have been in top form.

W

I got Sam to sit down in the living room and on the pretence of getting him something to drink, led Pastor Jim into the kitchen.

I opened the fridge door, looking around at the milk jug, the 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola, as I spoke.

"You don't think Meg and Barclay did something to him, do you? I mean something other than all the physical torture?" I whispered into the refrigerator and took out an apple juice box.

Pastor Jim was leaning against the counter, arms crossed loosely over his chest, a pensive expression on his face.

"Do you think Sam had something to do with the broken window?" He asked.

I shrugged, "I don't really know. I have no idea what's going on with Sam. He won't tell me what happened to him but what if they… did something to him?

Jim pushed off from the counter, "If you are truly worried about Sam, I can ask Bobby and Rufus to help me do some tests. They wouldn't be painful and they may put some of your fears to rest."

I smiled gratefully.

"We should do this after Dad's visit… I don't want anything going wrong, you know?"

Jim nodded, "I understand. Don't worry Dean, we're going to help Sam every way we can."

I felt a little bit better knowing the old hunter was on my side still.

I peered into the living room and saw my brother had one of his notebooks in his lap but instead of drawing, he was just staring down at it.

I frowned and headed toward my brother, forgetting about the juice.

I gripped Sam's shoulder; he jumped and looked guiltily at me.

"Sammy, you okay man?" I asked as gently as I could.

"Uh, yeah… yeah," Sam muttered and his gaze shifted down to his notebook.

"M'alright," Sam glanced up at me furtively and opened his book. My grip on my brother's shoulder tightened with my shock- there, sketched in thick, black lead was a Devil's Trap- like the ones Bobby had suggested Sammy could draw.

"Sam," I whispered, my brother using his good hand to try and pry my fingers away from his shoulder, "Where did you learn how to do that?"

"Dean… let go…" Sam muttered, "Dean… you're hurting me…"

I released my brother and Sam rubbed his shoulder for a moment.

"Sammy, how do you know how to draw that? Do you know what it is?" I asked again.

Sam shrugged, "It just came to me."

I nodded as if it the trap was one of the regular drawings that 'just came to him'.

Pastor Jim shuffled into the living room, as though he was unsure if he should interrupt; juice box in hand.

The old hunter held out the drink, nudging my elbow with it.

I turned and took it, grabbed the straw fiddled with it for a moment, "Damn thing, haven't used one of these since grade-school-"

Jim swiped the juice box from my fumbling hands and deftly inserted the straw before handing it back with an exasperated look.

"Cops," he muttered and shook his head.

I turned my attention back to Sam, "Hey, drink this, Sammy and you'll feel better."

Sam did as I asked, looking at me quizzically.

"How's your arm feeling?" I asked my brother.

Sam flexed his fingers- the ones on his injured hand- and looked up at me, "They don't hurt so much, now."

I nodded, "That's good, Sammy, maybe we can get that cast off soon."

My brother flashed me a small smile. I reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Where's Bobby and Rufus?" I looked over at Pastor Jim.

"They're around," Jim answered, scratched at his short beard, "Seeing what they can see."

I nodded, knowing that the other two hunters must be trying to find Meg and Barclay.

I frowned, still thinking about that Devil's Trap Sammy had drawn. I wondered if he remembered anything about our flight to Sioux Falls, I wondered if he remembered anything about demons. I knew I'd have to tell him eventually, of course, but for now I was content to leave him in the dark, allow him to believe Meg and Barclay were no more than a couple of freaks and leave it at that. I didn't know what they wanted with my brother and I didn't want to try and explain that to Sammy. I wasn't even sure if and when I found out I would tell my brother anything at all.

Pastor Jim moved to the gramophone and turned it on, set a record spinning, the notes of Vivaldi's 'Spring' floated through the air, calming.

Sam flipped through his notebook and opened it to a sketch of Jessica Moore.

Aw Sam, you still miss her, eh?

"Sammy," I reached out and closed the book, "Let's take a walk; the fresh air will do you some good."

"Oh… Okay," Sam stood and followed me to the front hall.

"You wanna come along?" I asked Jim but the old priest shook his head.

"I'll let you and your brother go on without me," he said, "I think I'll make some tea."

I chuckled and shook my head, "We'll see you in a little while then. C'mon Sammy, I wanna show you around the place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Deep Purple song.


	7. Serve The Servants

As my bones grew they did hurt

They hurt really bad

I tried to have a father

But instead I had a dad

I just want you to know that I

Don't hate you anymore

There is nothing that I could say

That I haven't thought before

-'Serve The Servants' by Nirvana

I couldn't help but pace around the living room, waiting for my father to show up. He had called to let me know he was about a half-hour away and I grew more and more nervous with each passing minute.

Jim was sitting on the couch, drinking tea and looking calm and collected. Bobby and Rufus were also there, the former was seated beside the Pastor and the latter was in the kitchen, the chair he was occupying leaned back on its rear legs.

Sam was in his usual chair, watching me walk back and forth.

Maybe this isn't such a good idea, I thought, I should never have told Dad where we are.

I stared at my brother- he was wearing that grey hoodie and a pair of faded blue jeans- and I couldn't help but notice he was still very thin, had bruised-looking eyes and the cast on his wrist.

What's Dad going to think when he sees Sam like this? I wondered desperately, knowing my Dad was going to ask questions I'd have to fake answers for.

"Dean, relax," Bobby muttered, "Yer makin' me nervous."

I stopped pacing and ran a hand through my hair.

"You okay, Sammy?" I asked and made my way over to my brother.

Sam nodded but I caught a hint of fear in his expression. It had been months since he'd last seen Dad and I was sure they hadn't parted ways on good terms. I was sure Mom had probably dragged Dad to Alexander's for a short, tense visit for everyone. I knew Mom tried really hard to get Dad to go with her, every time she visited Sam, but more often than not she'd end up visiting my brother by herself.

I wished Mom was coming with Dad. She would have made this a whole lot easier. I felt guilt sink heavily in my stomach thinking about the funeral and the fact that Sam hadn't been there.

I felt my brother tug at my sleeve and I looked down, "What do I say?"

I smiled, "How about: Hey, Dad. Long time, no see!"

I tensed up when a sound of a car's tires crunching on the gravel driveway filled the quiet front room.

My gaze turned to the Pastor as I thought: He's here already!?

Should I get the door right now? Before Dad has time to get to it?

He's your father; Jim's expression said.

This is your house; I countered, silently.

A sharp knock put an end to our muted argument. I froze in place, now completely unsure of what to do. I felt like a rookie who'd been asked to face off against a gunman on his first day on the job.

Jim moved first. He stood, adjusted his dark purple button-up shirt and went to the door.

I just stood beside my brother and stared, I'm sure my mouth was gaping open like a goldfish's.

I heard a short conversation ensue; I could distinguish my father's rough tones over the Pastor's soft ones, and prayed that Jim would tell Dad that there had been a mistake, that Sam and I weren't here.

Jim moved to one side to let my father inside. I saw him wipe his feet on the mat in the entranceway and shake his head when the Pastor offered to take his coat.

Sam's fingers had crept around my wrist and were now clinging on for dear life as though my brother thought Dad would spirit him away as soon as look at him.

I tried without success to pry my brother's hand off my arm and grimaced more than smiled as my Dad stepped into the room.

He cut an imposing figure; tall, though not as tall as Sammy, with broad shoulders belying the football player he'd been in his youth, square jawed, with an aquiline nose, large dark brown eyes and black hair that was just beginning to show grey at the temples. All in all he could have been some sort of ancient Roman general or emperor or something like that.

Dad took in the room- the furniture, bookshelves, gramophone with a critical eye.

"Dad," I began but paused. His gaze landed on me and I stepped forward, my brother's hand slipping from my wrist.

"Uh, glad you could make it," I said and gave a self-conscious smile.

"Hm," Dad grunted, "So this is where you've been hiding out."

"Dad…" I cautioned, hoping that he wouldn't start in on where we'd been or what we'd been doing the past three months.

"Hey, what're we, furniture?" Bobby's gruff voice interrupted in the nick of time.

Bobby and Rufus approached my father and I.

"Robert Singer," he held a hand out to Dad, "But folks call me Bobby."

"Rufus Turner," the black hunter introduced himself.

"John Winchester," Dad said and shook each man's hand in turn.

Dad still seemed uneasy, perhaps because the three hunters who were my friends looked old enough to hang out with him instead of me.

"Would you like something to drink, John? We have soda, juice, tea-" Jim began but Dad waved the offer away.

"I'm fine, Father," Dad said and I stifled a chuckle.

"Actually I'm a Pastor, but John, please call me Jim," he gave a faint smile and I forced my expression to remain neutral.

My father didn't seem to notice that Jim was making fun of him- as his gaze shifted again to land on Sam- and stepped toward my brother.

"Sam," Dad spoke a little bit too forcefully; I saw Sam flinch ever so slightly but look at our father hopefully.

"It's been… too long, son," Dad said hesitantly.

Sam nodded but I saw him wringing his hands nervously.

Dad moved until he was standing in front of my brother. I saw Dad's jaw tighten momentarily but then he relaxed.

"Sam, I just want to say…" Dad paused to clear his throat, "I want you to know that I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I know that none of this is your fault and I was wrong to blame your for something you had no control over."

I crossed my arms. I was sure Dad was lying through his teeth. People didn't change just like that. I decided to bite my tongue though and see how this played out, if only for Sam's sake. I mean, the kid hadn't seen Dad in months and I didn't want to give our old man the bum's rush before my brother actually got any time with him.

Sam nodded, unsure of how to reply and picked at a loose thread at the sleeve of his hoodie.

My brother's gaze sought mine and I could see the unspoken question, 'what am I supposed to say, Dean?'

I shrugged. If it had been me, I would have torn Dad a new one for being a dick for so many months… but Sammy wasn't like that, I knew he'd never give Dad a hard time for the way he'd been behaving.

"Well, uh, you're here now," Sam muttered and that hopeful expression crossed his face again.

Our father chuckled, "I am, son. I am. I swear I'm going to make it up to you too."

I looked around and noticed that but for the three of us, the living room was empty- the hunters must have decided to give us some privacy.

They're probably holed-up in Jim's computer room, I thought.

Dad must have noticed Sam's injured hand because I saw his lips grow thin and his eyes narrow.

Shit, I thought, time for a little damage control.

"What happened to your wrist, Sam?" Dad asked in that familiar accusatory tone he reserved only for his youngest.

"I uh, fell, yeah… Dean and I were taking a hike and I tripped over a rock… pretty clumsy of me, eh?" Sam blurted out and laughed nervously.

Dad stared for a long moment at Sam's wrist and fingers that were still in splints- they could really come off soon- and asked me if that was, in fact, what had happened.

"Yeah," I assured him, "Remember the time Sam smashed his face into the handlebars of his mountain bike? Split his lip something awful and chipped a couple of teeth! Mom wouldn't let him ride again for a month!"

Dad nodded. Surely he was recalling the sight his twelve-year old son being pulled along by his sixteen-year old brother, blood running down his chin and tears running down his cheeks.

Sam had always been notorious for being clumsy, uncoordinated and really accident prone. I always joked that it was because he'd grown so tall so fast, but I think it was just the way Sam was. Didn't seem to stop him from doing the things he loved though. He had never been one of those 'bubble-wrap' kids who are afraid of sleeping in a bunk-bed or something because they might fall; Sammy just got over the bumps and scrapes and kept up with me, sometimes even outdoing me.

Dad seemed to believe the latest exploit of the Incredible Clumsy Boy and nodded saying that Sam should really be more careful, watch where he was going, etc. etc.

I relaxed a little bit, deciding to get Dad's attention off Sam somewhat.

"What have you been up to? Thinking of retiring yet?" I asked the question I always did whenever I saw my Dad. He had been working as a mechanic at the same shop since we'd moved to Utica and didn't appear to have any thoughts of retirement yet.

Dad shook his head, "Bills don't pay themselves, Dean."

"But you should have a good pension by now, you're at the garage all the time," I countered, slightly angrily. Yeah, Dad had better have been at the garage all the times he said he had been, too busy with work to come see Sammy.

Dad frowned, "Not all of us are unionized."

"Dean, Dad please don't fight," Sam's small voice brought my attention to him. He was staring up at us, his green eyes large and wet.

Dad looked like he wanted to tell Sam to grow up but he held his tongue.

I should have known better than to raise my voice, should have realized it'd make Sammy uncomfortable, nervous.

I went to Sam's side, ignoring my Dad for the moment, and spoke instead to my brother, "You okay Sammy? Do you want something to drink? I'll get you a glass of water."

Sam nodded and I made my way to the kitchen. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. I checked the wall clock and decided it wouldn't hurt to give Sam his meds.

At least this will show Dad I can take care of Sam, I thought as I uncapped the multiple prescription bottles and tipped the corresponding capsules onto the counter.

When I returned to the living room, Dad was standing with his arms crossed, "He's thin, is Sam eating enough?"

I nodded, "I'm making sure he's getting three meals a day."

"Some of the meds cause weight loss, Dad," I explained and handed the mug to Sam. I held my hand out and my brother took the pills, one by one, washing them down with the water.

"How long are you planning on staying here?" Dad wanted to know.

I shrugged, "Until we've worn out our welcome, I guess."

Dad grumbled. I didn't like to be evasive but I knew I couldn't let slip anything that might give away exactly where Sam had been for the past three months- a dungeon of a basement, held captive by a couple of sadistic demons and Johns Hopkins- because if I did that, I knew that Dad would take Sam straight back to Alexander's, support group or not.

"How do you know those guys?" Dad asked, one eyebrow lifted with curiosity. I was glad that the topic had shifted away from Sam and moved to something I could easily lie about.

Before I could answer though, I noticed that my brother had become fidgety- he kept shifting his position on the chair and chewed on a thumbnail- and I turned my attention to Sam.

"What's wrong, Sam?" I asked and he froze as though he'd been caught out.

"Nothing," Sam muttered and looked up at me with his 'puppy eyes' expression.

Dad moved across the room until he stood beside me, staring down at Sam as though trying to decide what to do with him.

"Have you been sleeping?" Dad rapped out and Sam nodded quickly.

"Dad, right now is not the time to discuss Sam's health so piss off!" I growled and reached out to Sam.

My brother grabbed my wrist as I muttered, "What's up?"

Pulling me close so he could whisper, Sam told me what the matter was. I almost laughed in relief. Kid had to go to the washroom.

"One minute, Dad," I said with a smile and led Sam down the hall to the first floor half-bath.

Our father looked after us curiously but then seemed to realize what was going on and frowned, disapproving of Sam's behaviour.

I just rolled my eyes; better Sam tell me than wait until his poor bladder explodes from the pressure.

I knew what Dad was unimpressed about though, he hated it when Sam acted out-of-the-ordinary or like he'd been institutionalized. He hated that my brother asked for permission to do anything.

The way I saw it, I think it just gave Dad the heebie-jeebies that Sam wasn't independent anymore, like he was a little boy again.

The bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out. We walked down the short hallway and Sam returned to his seat. I crossed my arms and stared expectantly at our Dad.

"Don't you get tired of it, Dean?" Dad asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Tired of what, looking after Sammy?" I countered as though there wasn't anything to think about.

"It's like looking after a child! Don't you get tired, embarrassed?" Dad asked and I saw Sam cringe at the meaning of the words.

I fought to quench the anger that was starting to rise up, "I thought that support group thing was helping you."

"Of all the parents there, many have kids in institutions, Dean, and they talk about what it's like to know that," Dad explained.

"But that's not much different from you, is it? Most of the time Sammy's at Alexander's and the rest of the time he's with me," I spat, "You only see him when you have to, when Mom invited him for the holidays when he's well enough to be out!"

"Do you plan on taking care of your brother for the rest of your life?" Dad asked seriously.

"I'm not going to have this conversation with you," I growled, "It's no business of yours what Sam and I do."

Dad's expression matched my own for pent-up anger, "It is my business because Sam is my son and I am the one who makes decisions for him, not you, Dean."

I snorted with indignation, "And you're doing a bang-up job about it too!"

"Dean, Dr. Calhoun is very concerned about Sam," Dad tried to use reason.

Sam's eyes grew large and pleading.

"Than she can come here and take Sam back to Alexander's herself," I challenged.

My Dad wiped a hand over his face, "Dean, don't you want Sam to get better?"

Hackles raised, I exclaimed, "He is getting better! He's been better since he got out of that hospital!"

Dad didn't look the slightest bit convinced.

"You can't know that for sure!" Dad countered, "You are not a doctor, Dean!"

"Screw doctors! I know Sam better than anyone in that shitty hospital!" I growled.

I knew that shouting wasn't going to solve anything but neither did sitting down and having a polite discussion with my Dad apparently because he hadn't yet changed his tune.

"Dean, Sam needs to be in a hospital," Dad continued.

"Why, Dad? Can you give me one solid answer as to why Sammy should spend the rest of his life stuck in Alexander's?" I growled.

"He's still acting… weird… like he's still at the hospital," Dad commented.

I sighed and looked over at my brother. He was watching us, his green eyes large and dark.

"Sam always acts like that," I said softly, trying not to make it sound like a bad thing.

Dad shook his head and looked at Sam like he was somehow less of a human because he was sick.

I clenched my hands into fists and took a deep breath to keep from socking my father in the jaw.

"Why did you come here, Dad? You said you'd turned over a new leaf and wanted to start over with Sam but as far as I can tell we're right back to square one," I told him, completely bewildered, though not surprised, by my father's lies.

Dad ran a hand through his hair and sighed, actually looking apologetic, "I know and I'm trying, Dean, but old habits die hard I guess."

I snorted humourlessly.

"I just don't want anything to happen to Sam," Dad continued when I didn't answer, "I don't want him to be disappointed with a world that's not going to understand him. You know what people are like, you just mention the words 'mental' and 'illness' in the same sentence and they think you're related to either Hannibal Lector or Raymond Babbitt."

I nodded; I couldn't argue with that. That was the very reason I had only told Jimmy about Sam and kept everyone else at the station, Captain Baggot included, out of the loop.

"Dad, I understand, and I don't want Sam to get hurt as much as you… but he can't stay in hospitals the rest of his life… he's not happy there and he needs to get out and live," I reasoned, agreeing with my father but also trying to sway his opinion.

Dad turned to look at Sam as if seeing him for the first time.

I bit my lip; I wasn't sure if Dad really was trying to get over the whole 'my son has schizophrenia' thing or not. I hoped that my Dad wasn't just lying through his teeth to get what he wanted.

I was starting to think that this was a really bad idea, inviting my Dad here. I hated fighting in front of Sam, talking about him like he wasn't there… then again; he probably got a lot of that at Alexander's.

I rubbed my face with my hands, only realizing now how tired I was.

"Can we discuss this later, Dad?" I asked, hoping he would give in.

Our father nodded and sat down on Jim's couch across from Sammy.

"It is good to see you boys… you and Sam," Dad ventured, looking apologetic and morose.

I bit my tongue to keep from asking what I really wanted to: If it had been so hard on Dad to be away from us, from Sam than why didn't he make more of an effort on his part?

Don't push him, Dean; I warned myself. Dad's on a roll so just let him do his thing and keep quiet.

Sam seemed to relax a bit at Dad's words and I hoped our father wouldn't say anything else to mess it up.

Dad looked chagrined and spoke again. I held my breath.

"I'm sorry… I know I've been acting like a prick but I do care about you… and I just want to see you get better, Sammy, I really do."

Dad's words were lost to my brother and really I knew that no matter how much our father claimed he wanted Sam to get better I knew that Sam's illness would be a lifelong thing, there was no 'getting better' from schizophrenia. Sam could cope with it, control it with medication and therapy but it could not be cured. I hoped that Dad understood that.

I watched as Sam nodded, looking like he really was okay with Dad again. I wanted to shake my brother for being so naïve. I wanted to tell Sam that Dad didn't really understand him, didn't understand what was wrong and would just as soon dump him in a hospital again when Dad felt he couldn't control Sam anymore.

I gritted my teeth but held my tongue. I didn't want to start another argument, especially in front of my brother.

Never should have let him know where we were, I chastised myself bitterly.

Oh well, now I just had to make sure my Dad didn't say or do anything stupid.

W

I took a chance and left Sam alone with Dad. Truthfully I was only in the kitchen, yards away but I didn't want to seem like I was hovering.

I grabbed the well-used kettle and filled it with water, setting it on the stove I waited for it to boil.

I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms, listening in on the silence between my brother and father.

Dad was sitting across from Sam, he was leaning forward and was talking to my brother but I couldn't hear what he was saying.

The whistling of the kettle distracted me and I turned to pour the water into the teapot when I heard an awful thud and a strangled cry from my brother.

Still clutching the handle of the kettle in one hand, I whirled around to see Sam was sitting haphazardly on the floor before his chair with my father standing over him.

"What the fuck are you do-" I cried out as I rushed forward, dropping the kettle and spilling boiling water all over the kitchen floor. My enraged question was cut off when Dad turned to me and held a hand out; I found myself flying across the living room as though attached to invisible wires only to land heavily beside my brother.

Stunned, I peered up at my Dad, ignoring Sam's death-grip on my arm.

"What the fuck?" I managed to make out and tried to stand up, only to feel pressure holding me down.

"Ah ah ah, you're not going anywhere," Dad (or not Dad) said in a patronizing tone.

It was only then that I noticed the twisted smile on my father's face and his eyes flashed from their usual dark brown to pitch-black.

"No," I whispered and then, shouted, "Bobby!"

I heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall and all three men rushed into the living room.

The demon, however, was ready for them.

Jim was lifted up and slammed bodily into his bookshelf- heavy tomes crashing down onto his still body.

Bobby was knocked over the couch- the piece of furniture turning over with his weight- not on top of him, I hoped.

Rufus' feet seemed to have been swept out from under him and he crumpled in the doorway.

The demon smiled and turned back to Sam and I, "There, the whole gang's here now."

"Get the fuck out of our father you fucking cocksucker!" I snapped, trying to glare literal daggers at the monster.

The demon frowned, "You talk far too much. I don't like you."

I tried to reply but found I couldn't utter a peep! I turned to Sam and he just stared back at me with wide eyes. My brother was still clutching my arm and I was sure I'd have bruises by the time he let go but I didn't care. Even if I couldn't speak, there was no way I was letting this demon hurt my brother.

The demon put his hands behind his back and took a deep breath.

"I'm really surprised at you three," he commented, talking now to Jim, Bobby and Rufus. I was pretty sure that Rufus was the only one listening because the former mentioned hunters looked out cold.

The demon chuckled, "Here I was thinking that this place would be harder to get into than Fort Knox but you… you actually invited me in! I thought that three veteran hunters would have more sense than that- you know, cover the place with salt and traps- but noooo… all I have to do is shimmy into this guy and I'm welcomed in like jolly old Saint Nick himself!"

"What do you want?" Rufus asked, looking about as happy as if Santa Claus had actually been possessed by some hell spawn.

"What I want? Hmmm," the demon paused dramatically and tapped a finger to his lips, "What I want is to rip out your insides and force-feed them to you."

Our Dad, er, the demon that was possessing our Dad, turned to me, "I think I'll start with you first."

Still unable to talk, I gritted my teeth hard enough to make an uncomfortable grinding sound- like I was chewing on gravel- and threw one hand up in a rude gesture.

The demon took a step forward but before it could act, Sam threw himself in front of me and glared up at the monster.

The demon paused, looking like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, before flicking one hand and sending Sam skidding across the floor.

Sam! I shouted in my head and tried desperately to go to him. Sam sat up, looking a little dazed but otherwise not too hurt.

"Dean!" Sam shouted and flung himself at the demon before the monster could move again.

The two of them went down in a heap and all I could think was that my brother was going to get himself killed.

The demon threw Sam away from him. My brother hit his head on the table the gramophone sat on and stayed down.

The demon stood, brushing Dad's shirt off, looking pissed.

"Why are you here? I'd have thought you've have some other reason for this visit other than playing Ultimate Fighting with these boys," Rufus chimed in.

The demon grinned, "I'm a demon. You're hunters. Is there any other reason?"

As if to put emphasis on this the demon's gaze turned in my direction and he clenched a hand into a fist and I couldn't breathe.

I choked, unable to draw breath. My hands went to my throat but I was still unable to do anything.

"Dean!" I heard Sam cry out

"You stay where you are- Meg n' Barclay already did a number on you and I doubt anybody will be happy if you end up with more bruises," the demon flung a hand out and Sam seemed frozen to the spot.

Shit, shit, shit, shit; went through my brain as I sat there being choked by some fucked-up demon who'd been pretending to be my father for the past hour and thirty-five minutes.

"No, Dean! Please don't kill him!" Sam begged from his position across the room.

The demon turned to my brother- Sam's green eyes were large and watery, still a little bit sunken but otherwise looking like they belonged to some cute, fuzzy critter- and unclenched his fist.

I breathed in a gulp of air with gratitude- nothing had ever tasted as sweet as the old, slightly dusty atmosphere of Jim's rectory- and promptly started hacking as though I'd been smoking since I was five.

"As fun as it would be to choke the life out of you right now, I guess I can wait," the monster frowned, "I may be a demon but I'm sure that even the Devil himself wouldn't be able to say no to that face."

Sam's tears had welled up and were down streaming down his face. He truly did look adorable, in a pathetic kind of way.

"But that doesn't mean that you're off-limits if we should meet in the future," the demon assured me.

"Fuck you," I gasped and the demon chuckled.

"Besides, what fun would it be to take you out so early in the game? The good part is just about to start!" The demon grinned- a very unnerving expression on my father's face- and rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

That caught my attention; from the corner of my eye I saw Rufus struggle to sit up a little straighter, his frown deepening.

"'The good part'? What's that supposed t'mean?" Rufus barked.

The demon grinned so widely it seemed as if his face was going to split in half.

"Now why do you want to go and spoil the big surprise?" the demon asked.

"If you or any of those other bastards come near my brother I swear to God I will kill every last one of you!" I snapped and was flung into the kitchen for my efforts.

I slid across the floor slick with water from the kettle- no longer boiling, thank God- and slammed into the cupboards.

"I thought I shut you up," the demon turned its dark eyes on me.

I wanted to make some sort of comeback but decided it was best to keep my mouth shut and let Rufus handle it- he was the veteran after all- and pushed myself up against the cupboards, wringing my wet shirt out onto the linoleum floor.

The demon looked about as smug as anyone could get- and I could only imagine that it would soon get bored of flinging me around the house and start on its original threat of eviscerating all of us.

Before the monster could get to its grisly work though, it froze and suddenly began to cough up thick black smoke. I stared wide-eyed as the demon's (my Dad's) expression turned to one of fear and the smoke continued to pour out of it, heavily, making its way toward the floor only to dissipate with a faint crackle of lightning and a rotten egg smell.

Dad collapsed to the ground and I rushed in to see if he was still breathing.

Please be okay; I thought as I frantically checked for a pulse.

I sagged with relief when I felt my Dad's heart beating strongly.

Rufus picked himself up and began checking on Bobby and Jim.

Sam! I turned to my brother and saw him sitting where the demon had flung him, his face pale and tear-stained, his eyes glassy with shock.

"Sammy, are you okay? Are you hurt?" I crouched down in front of him.

"No," my brother whispered, distractedly.

"You're not okay or you're not hurt?" I asked and began checking for injuries.

"'Mm not hurt," Sam slurred.

"You sure?" I asked because I wasn't completely sure myself.

I put one hand on the side of Sam's face and turned his head so that he was looking in my direction.

"Dad's eyes were… they were black, Dean… why were they black?" Sam whispered disjointedly.

"It's okay, Sammy," I tried to sooth, rubbing along his cheek with my thumb.

"They were like… Meg had eyes like that…" Sam continued and I gulped down a lump in my throat, "I thought it was… you know," Sam's hand wavered around the side of his head for a moment, "but I guess not."

Well, the cat's out of the bag now; I thought glumly. There was no way I was going to be able to think up a feasible lie.

"Well if it weren't Jim or you, than whom in God's name done that?" Bobby's gruff voice interrupted us.

"I told you, Bobby, the demon had me pinned in the hallway and besides that, there wasn't a trap of any sort under the thing and I wasn't about to go shouting Latin at it," Rufus grouched, "It was pissed enough already as it was."

I craned my neck over my shoulder and saw Pastor Jim looking at me curiously.

"Don't look at me," I said, "I didn't do it."

I turned my attention back to my brother and a sudden idea came to me with a jolt.

"Sam," I said cautiously, "Did you make that black smoke leave Dad?" I explained it as simply as possible.

My brother's eyes widened, "NO!"

Sam's expression said that the very idea of doing something like exorcising a demon from our father would send him into a panic attack.

Of course Sam didn't exorcise that demon, I thought; he doesn't even know about demons. There would be no way in hell my brother could exorcise a demon without a Devil's trap and a book of Latin, right?

The trio of hunters had moved over and was helping Dad up; he still seemed out of it but was slowly regaining a sense of his surroundings.

"You're gonna be okay, John," Bobby gripped Dad's shoulder as he and Jim guided him to the couch- now put back in its rightful position.

I gave Sam one for good look-over before going to my father. I sat on the couch and put a hand on his shoulder as the hunters backed off- Jim went to Sam and Bobby and Rufus began putting the books that had fell from the bookcase back.

"Dad," I shook his shoulder slightly, "Dad, do you hear me?"

My father's face looked haggard, like he hadn't slept in a week.

"Dean?" Dad whispered, his voice was hoarse, "Where'm I?"

"It's alright, Dad," I reassured him, keeping a secure grip on his shoulder.

Dad's pallid face slowly regained some colour, his dazed eyes beginning to focus sharply.

After a halting glance around the living room, Dad repeated his question, only more articulately than before, "Where are we? How did I get here?"

I took a deep breath, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Dad looked at me quizzically, "I was, uh, putting gas in the car… just outside of Chicago and then… nothing… the last thing I remember is stepping outside the gas station after paying."

My father still looked confused- of course he did! - wondering how he managed to get from Illinois' most famous city to wherever here was.

"We're in Blue Earth," I supplied, even though I hadn't been asked, "Minnesota."

Dad shook his head as though to clear it.

"We?" he asked and blinked as he looked around.

I shifted so Dad could see Sam and Jim.

"Sammy?" Dad whispered as if he didn't quite believe that my brother was there.

I saw Sam look up and over at us curiously; Jim was crouched at his side, one comforting hand on my brother's forearm.

I gave a quick 'C'mere' motion with my free hand and Sam stood cautiously.

Jim held back as my brother came forward and I guided him to sit down beside Dad; standing before the both of them, myself.

Dad stared at Sam for a moment, as though not quite believing he was really in front of him.

Then, Dad did something I did not expect. He leaned forward and pulled Sam into a strong hug. Sam's look of surprise almost made me laugh out loud but I managed to hold it in.

"It's been too long, son," Dad whispered against Sam's shoulder and I suddenly felt as though I was interrupting something private.

When the two of them pulled apart, I could have sworn I saw tears shimmer in my Dad's eyes.

"Are you okay, Dad?" I asked, thinking he was feeling wonky from the demon possession.

My father nodded.

"What happened?" Dad asked and I gulped. How was I going to explain to my father that he'd just spent close to ten hours possessed by a demon?

I turned to the three hunters; "You just look after your brother," Jim said softly.

"Sammy, c'mon let's get you upstairs," I tugged at his hand, "You need some rest."

Sam stood and let me lead him toward the stairs before turning back and peering at our father.

"He's okay, Sammy; Jim's looking after him," I assured him and tugged at his wrist.

Sam followed obediently, saying nothing, as I led him upstairs and into his room. I sat him down on the bed and paused to look at him a moment. I still wasn't sure if he'd sustained any injury from the demon attack.

"Sam, why don't you put a clean shirt on?" I asked as I fished through the dresser drawers and found a blue t-shirt.

I hoped that my brother wouldn't put up a fight, I didn't want to force him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with… but I still wanted to make sure he was as okay as he said he was.

Sam looked from my face to the shirt in my hands and back again. He hesitated, his expression turning shy.

I held back the urge to sigh in frustration- I wanted to get back downstairs and talk with the hunters about the demon- and proffered the shirt again.

Sam reached out and took the garment from my hands. He stared at it for a moment- he was never really a t-shirt kind of guy- and set it down so he could pull the hoodie off.

I wondered what Sam was thinking; he'd said he'd seen Meg's eyes turn black and maybe he was trying to figure out how that connected to the demon who'd just been possessing our Dad.

I wondered who or what had made the demon leave our father's body- it didn't look like it was a voluntary eviction either- but there was always time to discuss that later with Jim and the others. Right now Sam and Dad were a priority.

Once my brother had slipped the hoodie off, I took a quick inventory- he didn't have any visible injuries- the scars glared harshly against his thin frame but other than that Sam appeared unharmed. There weren't even bruises from when he'd been thrown around by the demon- I guess I would call that some luck- and I made a mental note to check if I received anything from my own flight across the living room and kitchen.

I helped Sam pull the t-shirt over his head. He didn't look comfortable in the short sleeves and his hand moved toward his hoodie.

"Hang on a sec," I muttered and dug around in his duffle again before pulling out a plaid flannel shirt with long sleeves.

"That sweater should get washed," I told him and Sam slipped his arms into the flannel button-up's sleeves and left it open.

I took the hoodie and stuffed it into the wicker laundry hamper hidden inside the closet of the room. Both my brother and I were running low on clean clothes- I hadn't brought very much from my house when Bobby had told me about the demons- and decided that I'd get some laundry done later, after everything had been sorted out and everyone had calmed down.

I sat down on the bed for a moment and took a few deep breaths. I wanted to know what the hell was going on. I wanted to know why the demons were so interested in my brother, I wanted to know what we were going to do about Meg and Barclay running around scot-free, I wanted to know what we were going to do with my Dad (now that he knew that demons were real). I sighed and put my head in my hands, momentarily forgetting my brother was in the room with me.

I jumped a little when I felt Sam's thin hand touch my back and looked up to see Sam's green eyes confused yet sympathetic.

"I'm okay, Sammy," I assured him and gave my best 'don't worry about me, I'm A-OK' smile.

"M-Meg and Barclay weren't people w-were they? They were like t-that thing inside D-Dad, right?" Sam asked. He was nervous or scared, he always stuttered when that happened.

I shook my head, "No, Sam, they weren't people."

Not anymore at least, I added silently, not forgetting that somewhere there was a young girl and (probably) ex-WWE fighter trapped inside those bodies with demons in the driver's seat.

Sam looked like he didn't know if he should be relieved or frightened by this revelation.

"They're not gonna get you, Sammy. I won't let them touch you again," I told him firmly, telling myself that I would kill the two of them if they came within a stone's throw of my brother again; humans inside them or not.

Sam nodded and I hoped I'd be able to keep my promise.

"Let's go back downstairs, okay?" I suggested. Sam looked exhausted but I didn't want to let him out of my sight just yet, besides, Dad would likely have questions for us- hopefully not demon-related.

Sam followed me down the stairs, holding onto the railing for support.

He must feel a little unsure of himself right now, I thought, I would.

I recalled the feeling that had swept over me when I had learned about the existence of demons- first from Bobby and then from Jim- and it had seemed as if the world had been turned upside down, like the carpet had been yanked from under me and felt guilty that Sam should feel that way, after everything that had happened to him.

W

Sam did feel unsteady but really, the feeling was not altogether unfamiliar to him. For years, since Jessica's death, he'd been surrounded by people- doctors and family members- telling him that what he thought was true was a lie, a delusion created by his own defective brain. Oftentimes he wasn't sure what was reality and what wasn't. The only thing that he knew for certain, no matter how many medications the psychiatrists prescribed him, was that his girlfriend's death was no accident. He had been there, he had seen her! No one could tell him that Jess had died in an electrical fire because Sam was sure victims of fires caused by faulty wiring did not end up pinned to the ceiling, bleeding from wounds in their abdomens while flames spontaneously erupted and consumed them-

"Sammy, you okay? You need to sit down?" Dean's voice brought him from his thoughts and he realized he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, knuckles white on the banister.

"Uh, okay," Sam muttered and avoided his brother's concerned stare.

He allowed himself to be led to the chair that everyone seemed to think of as his. His father still sat on the couch, now looking pale under the stubble covering his cheeks and chin.

Rufus was putting the last of the volumes back onto the bookshelves and Bobby was sitting on the other chair, facing John with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped before him as though praying.

Sam could hear Jim in the kitchen, the faint sound of a boiling kettle signaled that the Pastor was making tea again.

Sam watched as his brother moved to the couch and sat down beside their father. His Dad turned to Dean and shook his head, his expression one of helpless anger, not dissimilar to the one that had been on his face when the doctor had first told them about the schizophrenia.

Only this time, his Dad didn't start yelling at Bobby or the others, he just stared at Dean as though willing him to say that what he'd experienced firsthand wasn't true.

"I- I just can't believe it… I don't want to believe-" John muttered and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"Sorry to say this Dad but demons are real," Dean said softly and Sam felt a jolt when his brother said those three words out loud- Demons. Are. Real- and suddenly he remembered where he'd seen that odd pentagram-thing before.

Sam remembered Bobby's house, the salvage yard and the drive back to Utica that had been cut short.

"Noooo," The word was drawn out in a pained moan and Dean, Dad, Bobby and Rufus all turned to stare at him.

Dean immediately stood and came over to him. Sam shook his head, "No, no, no…"

"Sam. Sammy, what is it? Are you hurt?" Dean's hand gripped his shoulder and tried to look him in the eye.

Sam's eyes were clenched tight. He suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy and Dean's voice faded away to nothing, darkness taking over Sam as he plunged into unconsciousness…

…Sam opened his eyes and threw up violently. He head throbbed terribly and he groaned in pain as he felt warm blood seep through his hair.

Sam's gaze traveled to his brother in the driver's seat and he saw Dean's face was a blank mask.

"D'n," Sam whispered, "DEAN!"

His brother didn't answer.

Eyes traveling the interior of the car wildly, Sam took a moment to wonder why the Impala's ceiling was where the foot-wells should be. It was only then that Sam realized that he was still buckled into his seat, upside down.

Fumbling with the seatbelt, Sam's shaking fingers tried to free him but he was trembling far too much, his vision obscured by black dots that danced across his eyes.

Sam froze when he heard a sound outside the car. Footsteps! Maybe they were paramedics!

"H-help! Help!" Sam cried as loudly as he could. He heard the footfalls come to a stop just outside his side of the car.

"W-we need he-help!" Sam tried again and smiled grimly when he heard indistinguishable voices talking.

Suddenly the passenger side door was ripped off its hinges; Sam flinched at the awful screech of tearing metal and the shock of witnessing such a violent action.

Sam could see two pairs of feet in the darkness.

Someone peered down towards him; he couldn't make out their features in the gloom.

A knife came out and cut through his seatbelt and Sam fell painfully onto the roof of the car. Sam started thrashing, trying to get out of the uncomfortable, confining position when the stranger grabbed a hold of one of his flailing arms and pulled him bodily from the wreck.

Sam stared up at his saviors, still unable to see them clearly.

He opened his mouth to speak when the larger of the two silhouettes drew its foot back and booted Sam in the face, pitching him into unconsciousness…

… Sam blinked his eyes open. His brother and father were staring worriedly at him.

"Maybe he really did get hurt," Dean suggested but then gave a small smile when he saw Sam was awake again.

Dean helped Sam into a sitting position and Jim passed him a glass of water.

"Must have hit your head when that demon was throwing you around, eh?" Dean said and ruffled Sam's hair. Sam let his brother, knowing he was checking for injuries.

Sam shook his head to clear it and felt anger rise in him that his brother and father were hovering over him.

"I'm fine," Sam snapped and folded his arms around his chest protectively.

"You fainted like a little girl, Sammy," Dean, unfazed by his brother's sudden temper, smiled.

Sam shoved at Dean, pushing his brother away. He caught the look on his Dad's face and immediately felt bad. Dean was only trying to help him. Now his father was going to think he really did need to go back to Alexander's.

Sam drank the water that Jim had given him and thanked the Pastor. He sheepishly peered at his brother and father.

"What was that about, Sam?" Dean asked him and cocked a curious eyebrow.

Sam shrugged, unsure of how much he should say, especially in front of their father.

Sam took a steadying breath and looked into his older brother's hazel eyes.

"I remember, Dean. I remember what happened," Sam said slowly, hoping that he wouldn't have to extrapolate.

Sam saw his brother's mouth open slightly as though he was about to say something but no sound came out. A vertical line appeared between his eyebrows and his expression turned sad.

"Everything, Sam? How much do you remember?" Dean asked. John looked at his sons curiously but it was as though he was not there with them.

"I remember meeting Bobby and what he told us about demons… I remember the accident and… and I remember them," Sam blurted out, pausing only when he tried to form a phrase in the most subtle way he could think of.

"You remember Meg and Barclay?" Dean asked, "From… before?"

Sam nodded, "I woke up… I didn't s-see them, di-didn't know wh-who t-they were and y-you didn't w-wa-wake up and they were too fast… too strong."

John looked slightly confused and Sam wondered just how much he had been told.

Dean's face had gone pale and John snapped his eyes to his eldest son, "Dean, are you alright?"

Sam watched as his brother shook his head, "Yeah, Dad I'm fine."

Sam could almost see the wheels turning in Dean's head.

"You can tell him… if you want to," he muttered and looked up into his brother's face.

John pushed forward, "Tell me what? What's going on with you, Sam? Is this about… demons?"

Dean took a deep breath and looked to his brother. Sam's nod was a jerking motion- his mouth had gone dry and his heart pounded in his chest- giving his brother consent.

Sam watched as Dean turned to their father and rubbed his face and then ran his hands through his hair.

"Dad, uh, the reason I took Sam from Alexander's in the first place was because demons were after him," Dean paused to wait for his father's reaction.

"They were after him?" John looked incredulous but curious.

"I saw demon signs all over Utica an' they were centering on that hospital of yours," Bobby cut in and all eyes turned to him. Sam smiled- Bobby would help Dad to understand what had happened- and turned back to look at his brother.

"How do you know they were after my son?" John asked, peering shrewdly at the other occupants of the room.

"When we went to the hospital to get 'im, yer boy was drugged," Bobby explained, "He was woozy and out o' it, disoriented-like."

John crossed his arms over his chest, "Okay, I'll believe in demons because I've encountered one firsthand but I am not going to believe that they were after Sam."

Sam held his breath.

"I mean, Sam never hurt anyone, he's not a bad person," John continued, sounding like he was trying to will the truth away with his assertions.

Rufus shrugged, "Don't matter… all we know is that your son was targeted by demons but we haven't been able to figure out why."

"And you've been hiding out here for three months, ever since leaving Utica?" John asked and Dean cleared his throat.

"Not, uh not exactly Dad," Dean's gaze slipped to Sam and the young man bit his lip but nodded once.

John looked from one son to the other.

"What's going on here? What is it you're not telling me?"

"Dad, just listen, 'kay? Save the 'Q & A' for after because if you interrupt I'm going to lose my nerve," Dean said, his eyes darting to Sam as though to make sure he was still on-board with this.

Sam didn't want to tell their father that he had been held captive by demons but it seemed like there was no way around it. Sam looked up when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, barley making contact, and saw Pastor Jim give an encouraging smile.

"Sammy, you're gonna have to help me," Dean said quietly, almost begging, "'Cause I don't know everything, do you think you can do that?"

Sam hesitated, he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell his Dad anything that had happened to him but he would try- Dean knew he would try, at least- and hopefully their father wouldn't need to know everything.

"After getting Sam out of Alexander's we drove up to Bobby's place and stayed there for the night," Dean explained before being interrupted by John.

"Only one night?"

"Yeah, Dad," Dean bit his cheek to keep his irritation in check.

"We were gonna come back home- Bobby gave us some tips on how to keep the bastards away- and I thought I'd be able to keep Sammy safe," Dean's voice was filled with regret. They never should have left Sioux Falls.

"We'd, ah, we were a few hours away from Bobby when the demons attacked… they ran us off the road and they… took Sammy," Dean whispered, forcing John to lean closer to be heard.

John's eyebrows rose up his forehead to join his hairline.

Dean cleared his throat and looked pointedly at his brother. Sam frowned. He didn't know what to say, how to describe what had happened to him.

"They tortured him, Dad," Dean whispered to break the silence, his hazel eyes hard as steel, "They tortured him for two months before we found him."

John's mouth dropped open and his face turned white in shock and disbelief.

Sam closed his eyes and only opened them again when he felt his brother's hand on his forearm.

"We don't have to do this right now, Sammy," Dean said, his hazel eyes sad, and Sam nodded.

Sam watched as his brother stood and stretched, "C'mon Dad, I want to show you the car Bobby gave me. Maybe you can help me with her."

The boy's father hesitated for a moment and then stood. Sam dropped his gaze guiltily even though he knew Dean would tell him he had nothing to be guilty about.

Sam's eyes went to one of his notebooks, jostled off the gramophone table by the demon attack and he picked it up, holding it close to his chest protectively. He didn't notice the three hunters watching him with curious and sympathetic expressions.

SPN

I tried to organize my thoughts as I led Dad out the where the Impala was. I didn't want to be talking about Sam's torture right in front of the kid and so I had used the ruse of checking out the '67 to get our Dad alone.

The Impala was still on cinderblocks- I hadn't touched her since I was out here talking to Bobby after seeing Sam's scars for the first time- but she still managed to look magnificent.

Dad nodded his approval and walked around the car, his mechanic's eye taking in every inch of the damage done and the repairs made.

"Who helped you with this?" Dad asked, knowing I had little to no knowledge of fixing cars.

"Bobby. He owns a salvage yard and repair business out in Sioux Falls," I told my Dad and laid a hand against the Impala's shiny black skin.

"Man knows what he's doing, I'll give him that," Dad said lightly and I knew he was waiting for me to drop the bomb.

I had no idea how to begin, so I decided to tell Dad about finding Sam- a moment of both unimaginable joy and heartache. I took a deep breath and rubbed my palm against the Impala's sun-warmed coat.

"We found him in this abandoned house a few miles outside of Baltimore," I said slowly, recalling in vivid detail the state of the house.

"They'd locked Sam in the basement like he was some kind of animal," I whispered, "For a second I thought I was just having a really bad dream and I'd wake up and everything would be alright… It felt as if I'd walked into someone else's nightmare…"

Dad didn't interrupt as I spoke, perhaps he didn't dare.

"He was just lying there, kind of crumpled, and he didn't move… he wasn't moving," I hesitated, tears filling my eyes at the memory of the hell-hole of a basement.

"Bobby got a blanket and we wrapped Sammy in it and drove to the hospital," I swallowed, "I didn't think Sam was going to make it, Dad, he was just so thin and sick. I kept expecting each breath he took to be his last."

That was really how I felt. I wasn't trying to be dramatic or make the episode appear worse than it was- it was terrible enough without embellishment- I just wanted my Dad to know what I was thinking at that time too.

"The demons," I began and choked back a sob, "God! Those fucking monsters beat him… they beat him and starved him and cut him and whipped him… they burned him… with what, I don't know… but they did… I don't know what else they did to him…"

I closed my eyes and felt hot tears leak down my face. I hurriedly rubbed at my face.

I jumped when I felt a strong, hard hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw tears in my Dad's dark eyes, his Adam's apple bobbed with the struggle to keep from crying out loud.

"Sam had a fever when we got him to the hospital and then he picked something up there," I said once I had a little more control, "All in all he was there for a month… he's still not a hundred percent but I couldn't see him at the mercy of some doctor anymore."

Dad was speechless. He had no idea what to say to all the information I had just given him.

He took a shuddering breath and whispered, "Did we do this to him? By leaving him in Alexander's? Is this our fault?"

I shook my head, "We don't know why the demons wanted Sam. He doesn't either. Maybe they were just doing it for shits and giggles…"

I stopped talking when I saw the look of resoluteness on my father's face.

"Dad?" I asked, hesitatingly.

"Mary told me this might happen one day," Dad said and my jaw dropped, "I just never believed her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Nirvana song.


	8. Just Another Nightmare

The echoes creep into your dreams

Torn awake from your sleep

Unholy nightmare of savagery

This cannot be

The warmth soaks into your fingers

And soothes away the pain

Frantically replay the days

The tattered clothes still drape your frame

Crimson cloaked memories

Blood soaked destiny

-'Just Another Nightmare' by Shadows Fall

I blinked in astonishment.

"What do you mean? Did Mom know about demons?" I asked in disbelief.

Dad shook his head, "I don't think so… She never said anything about it to me if she did."

My incredulous expression prompted Dad to continue.

"The first night it happened, Mary told me all about it- I guess it really scared her- and then she told me whenever she had the same dream afterward," Dad explained, "The night before she died, your Mom had the dream again…"

I reached out but then stopped, "What was it about, Dad?"

My father shook his head, "It didn't make sense to us. I told your Mom she was just stressed because of Sam."

I waited patiently.

Dad began slowly, "Everyone has crazy dreams once in a while. But this was different and your mother knew it; I was the one who didn't put any stock in it."

SPN

Sam bit his thumbnail nervously. He stared in the direction of the backdoor, waiting for his father and brother to return.

Jim had tried coaxing him into the living room but Sam refused to move. He didn't know where Bobby and Rufus were- they had finished cleaning up the living room and had disappeared- but he could hear the Pastor pottering around in the kitchen.

Sam felt ashamed that he couldn't speak about Meg and Barclay and that Dean had to tell their father everything. He wondered if John thought he was a coward.

"Sam, are you sure you don't want to sit down? I have tea and cookies," Jim plied, coming up behind the younger man and startling him slightly. Sam shook his head.

Jim nodded, "Feel free to come and sit anytime you like."

Sam didn't respond and continued to stare out toward the backdoor.

The young man wondered if should go outside, find his brother and father and tell them everything.

Just the thought of talking about what Meg and Barclay had done caused Sam's stomach to curdle.

Sam imagined what Dr. Calhoun would say if she could see him now: Sam, we don't keep secrets, we talk to people. You're not helping yourself by shutting everyone else out, you know. You do want to get better, don't you? Well then, the first step to is to open up.

Sam grimaced; those were the very same words the doctor spoke every time she found out he'd skipped group.

Well I'm not at Alexander's now, Sam told himself, and I don't have Dr. Calhoun to breathe down my neck all the time.

Sam tore his gaze away from the backdoor and went into the living room.

Even if Sam had wanted to talk about the demons, he didn't feel ready. Besides, Dean knew enough about what had happened that he wouldn't have any problems telling their father about it.

Sam sat down in 'his' chair and pulled his knees up to his chin, sock-clad feet resting on the edge of the seat.

Jim looked up when the young man took a seat but refrained from speaking; sometimes a warm beverage and a sweet treat couldn't fix things.

Taking a sip of his tea, Pastor Jim returned his attention to the book he was reading- an arcane text on exorcisms- and let Sam be.

Sam tapped his fingers against his calves nervously. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing; he had nothing to be anxious about. Dean would take care of everything, like he always did.

What if Dean tells Dad and they decide to send me back? Sam thought suddenly. What if all this is just an hallucination, a delusion- what if Meg and Barclay were never even real- and they're outside right now planning on taking me back to Alexander's?

Sam's grip on his legs tightened and he sniffed dejectedly.

He looked up when Pastor Jim moved, the older man standing and stretching with his hands on the small of his back.

"Are you alright, son?" the Pastor's voice made Sam jump; he'd thought Jim wasn't paying attention to him.

Sam nodded before resting his chin against his knees, staring ahead and not meeting the older man's eye.

SPN

I couldn't believe what Dad was telling me. I kept expecting him to give me a shit-eating grin and say he was just messing with me. But he didn't.

This was making no sense whatsoever. Well, okay, in light of everything that had happened with Sam and the demons, it sort of did but the connection was tenuous at best.

"Mary told me she had this dream about a church," Dad began slowly, as if he were trying to recall everything Mom had told him.

"Was it Saint Sebastian's?" I asked, thinking of the church Sam and I had been baptized in, back in Kansas.

Dad shook his head, "Your mother didn't recognize this one… she said it looked like it had been abandoned- it was dark and dusty, the windows had been boarded up."

I let out a long, slow breath and waited for my father to continue.

"Mary said she would be standing by the alter, kind of looking up at the crucifix- she had no idea how she had entered the church, she told me she'd kind of just appeared there… but I guess that doesn't really matter- and then she'd hear voices."

I leaned my back against the warm passenger door of the Impala, arms folded across my chest.

"How many?" I asked, suddenly Officer Winchester once again.

Dad shrugged.

"Did Mom say if they were adults or children?" I prompted.

Dad scratched at his scruffy chin. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face looked haggard.

"Adults, definitely," Dad answered, "Because moments later, Mary saw them."

I raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Your mother said she would hide behind the alter and watch as the people entered the church… she told me she didn't really remember all of them… there may have been three or four- but by the time she woke up it was hard to keep track- but she never forgot one particular figure…"

Dad rubbed a hand over his face, "It was a man, just some ordinary looking guy, but your mother knew he was evil. He also seemed to be their leader or something- he did most of the talking-"

I couldn't help but interrupt Dad at this point, "What did he say?"

My father shook his head sadly, "Dunno. Mary never knew."

"Damn," I muttered under my breath before looking up at my Dad, "Is that it?"

"No," Dad answered, "Sometimes Mary woke up at this point but other times she'd stay asleep… she, jeez, she really hated this part, scared her…"

My breath caught in my throat and my back tensed up.

"The man would motion to one of the other people and they'd pull this figure forward…. Mary said she never got a good look at his face but she knew something bad was about to happen to him- had already happened to him- 'cause he was covered in blood."

"Blood," I muttered to myself, "Jesus Christ."

"His shirt was red with it- Mary told me- his hair dripping with it," Dad continued, his voice growing thick with emotion- perhaps he was thinking about those late nights when he'd stayed up with Mom to listen as she told him about her fucked up nightmare- before hitching altogether and he had to stop for a moment.

I was shocked that my mother would have a dream like this. Really, I pictured her as an ice cream and kittens kind of person. But I guess you don't have any control over what your sleeping mind dredges up, subconscious thoughts and all that.

"Mary didn't know if the blood was his or somebody else's," Dad's voice sounded weak, whispery and I was startled at the toll this retelling was taking on him. Maybe I should have waited until he'd recovered a little bit more from the possession before satisfying my own curiosity.

"You're sure it was a guy? Mom was sure?" I asked and my own voice sounded strange to my ears- too high and scratchy to come from me.

Dad nodded, "She just had this feeling, you know? Anyway… well, I guess they wanted the guy to do something but he refused and this pissed their leader off something fierce. Mary told me he'd whip his hand out and the poor guy would fly across the room as if he were attached to strings or something-"

"Hold on!" I interjected again, "He threw this guy across the room without touching him?"

I think I was now beginning to see the connection. This sounded a lot like demons to me.

Dad bobbed his head once, looking sickly.

"Your Mom… she'd… she'd scream when that happened… she told me she wanted to run and see if the guy was okay but her legs never moved," Dad continued, swallowing thickly, "An' their leader heard her I guess 'cause Mary told me he'd stare straight at her and then she'd wake up. Just like that."

I slumped against the classic Chevy.

"That's it, he stared at her?"

Dad shuffled his feet in the grass for a moment, "Said it felt like the eyes of a hawk or an x-ray, like the bastard knew everything about her in that single glance."

Rubbing a hand on the back of my neck for a moment, "That's really fucked up, Dad. I'll give you that… and it does kind of remind me of demons but… what does it have to do with Sam?"

Dad looked up at me and his dark eyes were glazed and sad, "That boy covered in blood- he was your brother."

SPN

The backdoor slammed open, startling Sam, and Dean entered the rectory.

The younger man didn't even look up when his brother stepped into the living room. He stared straight ahead and bit his lip nervously; his fingers tapped against his legs in agitation.

"Sammy? Hey, you okay?" Dean asked and Sam nodded minutely.

Sam flinched when his brother gripped his shoulder, "Sam? Talk to me, man!"

Green eyes filling with tears, Sam sniffed as he peered at his brother's concerned expression, "Please don't send me back to Alexander's, Dean! I'm not crazy, I promise! It was real! It had to be real! You saw! You saw the scars-"

Sam gasped as Dean held up a hand, "Whoa, slow down. What're you talking about? I'm not going to send you back to the hospital."

Sam blinked and looked up at his brother hopefully, "Really?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Yeah, really. What's gotten into you, Sammy?"

The younger man shook his head, feeling ashamed. He should have known better; Dean was always the one trying to convince Dr. Calhoun his brother was better off with his family.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered, "I just thought… with Meg n' Barclay and you telling Dad… that…"

"You feeling alright? When was the last time you took your pills?" Dean asked anxiously and looked toward the kitchen doorway.

Sam shrugged, "Ah… before Dad arrived?"

"Okay," Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to go get the medications.

"Wh-where is Dad?" Sam called out, cringing when he stuttered. Dean didn't seem to notice though.

"Taking a look at the Impala," Dean answered from the kitchen. Sam heard the snick of prescription bottles being opened and the small, dull thuds of pills being counted out.

"Okay," Sam whispered. Looking around the living room, Sam only then noticed that Jim wasn't sitting where he had last seen him.

Sam's heart began to pound in his chest, "Uh… Dean?"

"Yeah?" His brother answered distractedly.

"Pastor Jim… he's… he's here, right?" Sam muttered and his mouth went dry.

Dean poked his head out of the doorway and he surveyed the den, "He probably went to see what Bobby and Rufus are doing."

Sam nodded and laid his chin on his knees as he waited for his brother.

Dean entered the living room, a saucer in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

Sam set his feet down on the hardwood floor and straightened up, his back twinging slightly.

He tensed when Dean put one hand on the side of his face after setting the dishes down.

"Sammy, look at me," Dean ordered softly and Sam turned his green-eyed gaze onto his brother's hazel one. He wavered, eyes flicking to his brother's forehead and then to Dean's mouth before settling.

"I know this is hard for you," Dean began and Sam suddenly tried to turn away, uncomfortable with the physical contact. Dean kept his hand steadied on Sam's cheek and prevented Sam from moving.

"We're doing our best to figure this all out," Dean continued quietly, "And Dad's going to help us, okay? He understands… he really does. We are not going back to New York State… okay? At least not for a little while."

Sam's gaze drifted to the left, over Dean's shoulder.

"Sam! You're safe here. We aren't going to let anything…. anything happen to you."

"You understand me? Yeah?" Dean finished, recognizing when his brother's attention began to wane.

Sam nodded frantically, the demon attack and the idea of revealing his treatment at the hands of Meg and Barclay taxing his stress tolerance for the day.

"Okay," Dean said with finality and gave Sam his meds and the glass of water.

The younger man grimaced at the amount of pills he had to take.

"I know it's a lot but you've gotta take 'em," Dean had caught sight of Sam's expression, "At least you won't have to take all of them forever, some are just antibiotics and stuff like that until your immune system's better."

Sam nodded; he knew Dean was right but it didn't make him feel better.

"How about we go upstairs and get you into bed, you've had a hell of a long day," Dean suggested in a way that told his brother it wasn't up for discussion.

Sam didn't feel the least bit tired but there was no point in arguing with Dean. After chasing down the meds with water, Sam noticed the hollow feeling in his stomach and wondered if he should have eaten something.

As Sam followed his brother upstairs a thought occurred to him and he couldn't keep silent.

"Dean?" Sam asked and looked over his shoulder at his sibling standing on the stairs below him, "Is Dad going to stay here? With us?"

"For a little while at least," Dean replied, clearly confused by Sam's question, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled and continued climbing up the stairs.

Once both brothers were at the top of the landing, Dean reached out and gripped Sam's upper arm in a tight- but not painful- grip.

"You know that what Dad was saying before… before the demon appeared," he began sternly, concern etched into his tone, "That was not true… Dad doesn't really believe all that shit."

Sam frowned. It was difficult to figure out just what his father did believe. He remembered John's reaction when the doctor had told them he was sick and the fact that Mary practically had to drag her husband with her to Alexander's. Sam hadn't seen his father in months, since before his mother's funeral- the man didn't even take ten minutes to pick up the telephone!- and though Dean said that John was busy, Sam knew better. He wasn't stupid.

Sam saw Dean mirror his downturned mouth and his brother sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Look," Dean told him, "I can't really speak for Dad, okay? But know that he does not hate you. I think he was just scared… is still scared. All the old man wants is for you to get better, okay? Just like I do."

Sam was still dubious, "He could have made more of effort to show me that."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, he could have… but no one can change the past but… you can pave the way for a different future."

Sam blinked at his brother for a moment and then chuckled, "Where did you hear that, Dean?"

Dean grinned, "I got it in a fortune cookie and I've been waiting to use it."

Sam shook his head good-naturedly before Dean turned serious again.

"Give Dad a chance? Okay, if not for me than for him. I mean, he knows what happened now and he'd be some kind of asshole if he still slipped back into his old habits with you," Dean asked of his brother and Sam couldn't say no.

"Besides," Dean ended, "Bobby n' Rufus n' Jim are here to help me keep him in line."

Sam laughed again, feeling somewhat better and walked down the hall toward his room.

Dean followed him but when Sam stepped inside, his brother stayed in the doorway.

"Try and get some sleep, Sammy," Dean told him and Sam nodded as he threw back the blankets.

The younger man didn't even bother changing clothes; he just slipped into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest, not the least bit tired.

"Sleep well," Dean whispered before he left, giving his brother some privacy. Sam listened to the sound of his brother's footfalls as Dean walked down the hall and then the stairs.

Staring up at the ceiling, Sam focused on breathing slowly and evenly. He could hear the sounds of muffled voices from somewhere downstairs- maybe Dean and Dad- and the creak and groan of the wooden floorboards. Shifting onto his side, Sam stared at the bedroom window, his eyes tracing the spider web of cracks in the glass…

Sam walked slowly down the dimly lit hallway.

I know this place; Sam thought and recognized the institutional grey-tile floors and white-washed walls of Alexander's. The doors to the patients' rooms were all closed and it was deathly silent.

Sam frowned. It was never quiet at the hospital, even in the middle of the night. Sam stared down the silent hallway and saw a trail of red spots leading further into the hospital.

Walking slowly, Sam realized that he was wearing the familiar blue draw-string pants, slippers and white t-shirt he always did whenever he was in Alexander's.

Dean lied to me. He took me back, Sam thought sadly even as his feet seemed to move of their own accord and propel him down the hall.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and pattered onto the grey-tiled floor. Raising a hand to wipe his face, Sam stared at his fingers, smeared with blood.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding far too loud in the quiet hospital.

"What happened?" Sam looked around at the closed doors around him for answers.

Realizing that he was all alone, Sam's hear began to pound fearfully in his chest and he broke into a run.

Turning the corner that would bring him to the hospital's entrance and the nurses' station Sam choked out a cry and skidded to a stop.

A pile of broken bodies was piled up before the desk serving the nurses. Blood covered every limb, clotted hair, dripped from mouths open in terror.

Retreating to the safety of the hallway, Sam's legs gave out on him and he grabbed the doorway for support. Sliding down to a crouching position, Sam put a hand over his mouth in shock as he recognized some of the faces in the mess.

He saw Jenny and Floyd and Dr. Calhoun…

"Noooo," Sam moaned and turned away from the sight. The sound of footsteps caused Sam to jump and peer around in fright.

Bernadette was walking towards him, her rosary wrapped around her hands.

"You," She hissed, "You did this! You killed them!"

"No! It wasn't me!" Sam protested and shrank back when the woman's eyes turned black as coal and she laughed.

"You murdered them all, Sam Winchester!"

Sam put his hands over his ears and called out his brother's name…

"Sam! Sammy! It's okay," someone was shouting in his ear and all he could do was shrink away from the threat.

"Nooo," Sam moaned, "Wasn' meeee."

"Wake up Sam!" the voice demanded, "You're having a nightmare!"

Sam struck out with both hands and he heard his attacker swear when he felt one fist connect with flesh.

"Damn it Sam! Open your eyes!" the voice swore and someone was shaking him roughly.

Sam did as the voice demanded and slid his eyes open.

Dean. It was just Dean. Looking frustrated and worried but it was his brother.

Sam immediately stopped fighting and went limp in his sibling's arms.

Ashamed, Sam felt tears seep from his eyes, "I'm s-sorry."

Dean didn't say anything, he just wrapped his arms around him and Sam let him.

"You're okay," Dean soothed as Sam's heart beat began to slow.

"Dean…" Sam began but bit his lip, "Dean, I'm scared."

"I know," Dean cooed, "But it was just a nightmare, okay? It wasn't real."

Sam nodded against his brother's shoulder. A nightmare. That's all it was. It didn't mean anything.

Sam looked over his Dean's shoulder and saw their father standing in the bedroom doorway, a harried, cautious look on his face and Sam turned away so John wouldn't look at him anymore.

Sam shuddered as he recalled the dream, the sight of all the people he knew… dead apparently by his hand. Sam lifted his hands up close to his face but he didn't see any blood on them, not even under the nails. Still, Sam felt the overwhelming urge to wash them.

"Are you alright, son?" John asked softly and Sam was surprised when his father's tone didn't sound accusatory at all.

Sam nodded and pulled away from Dean's embrace, wrapping his own arms around his midsection.

"I'll…. I'll be o-okay, Dad," Sam whispered quietly and Dean gripped his shoulder once before standing.

"Why don't you go back downstairs? I can take care of Sammy," Dean said and John nodded. Sam heard his father's footsteps as the older man stomped down the hall.

Sam didn't really want his brother with him. He wanted to be alone.

"I'm f-fine, Dean," Sam stuttered, "Pl-please go."

His brother looked skeptical but then he nodded, "Ten minutes, okay? And then I'm coming up to check on you."

Sam nodded. Dean was giving him more freedom than he would have had back at the hospital. If he'd had a particularly disturbing dream or a 'break'- as Dr. Calhoun called a schizophrenic episode- Sam would have to have one of the nurses or an orderly watch his every move for the next few hours afterwards.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Dean followed their father downstairs. He sat on his bed for a few seconds, looking around the room. The crucifix had fallen from its nail again and the window had new silvery cracks in its panes.

Once again Sam looked at his hands- just to make sure- and laid them on his thighs when he saw they were clean.

Biting his lip, Sam stood and stretched, wincing at the pull on the scars on his back.

Walking across the hall to the bathroom, Sam felt the door open and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Frowning, Sam raised one hand and picked at a speck of dried blood on his cheek.

Just a dream. It wasn't real. Sam was no stranger to vivid nightmares and knew that although they could seem realistic, they were only a product of his illness.

Sam turned on the hot water tap and washed his hands until the skin was red and sore, until Dean came upstairs to investigate and brought him into the living room where the rest of the men were chatting amiably over tea and cookies.

Sam didn't fail to recognize the worried looks his father and brother gave him or the sympathetic expressions on the faces of the hunters and shrank into his chair, retreating inward so that he could have some privacy.

Sam couldn't get the sight of all those dead bodies from his mind, the corpses of people he'd once known- some of whom he cared about- and told himself that he definitely wasn't a murderer, that he had never hurt anyone in his life and wouldn't start now.

It was just another nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Shadows Fall song.


	9. You Know What You Are?

I tried to sneak myself through, tried to get to the other side

I had to patch up the cracks and the holes that I have to hide

For a little bit of time even made it work okay

Just long enough to really make it hurt

When they figured me out and it all just rotted away.

-'You Know What You Are?' by Nine Inch Nails

"Dean," I turned at the sound of Pastor Jim's voice.

"Yeah?" I asked tiredly. I was watching Sam from the corner of my eye. My brother was staring off into space, completely oblivious to the world around him.

"I think now would be a good time to test your brother," he suggested and I tensed; I had forgotten agreeing that we should find out if Meg and Barclay had done something to Sam besides nearly kill him.

"I don't think he's ready," I protested but this time Dad spoke up, surprising me.

"Dean, Sam's never going to be ready," he rumbled, "He wasn't ready when the doctor told him he had a mental illness or when you told him the truth about demons. Sometimes we aren't ready but that doesn't change the fact that we need to know."

I stared at my father for a moment and Dad actually looked slightly chagrinned, "I wasn't lying about going to meetings with other people whose kids are like Sam."

"I didn't doubt you," I answered. What I had doubted was that my father would actually pay attention and take that stuff to heart.

I sighed, "Okay, what do we have to do?"

Jim thought for a moment, "Just make sure Sam knows that we're not out to hurt him… remind him that he's safe."

I felt apprehensive about the Pastor's words but nodded, "We can do that."

The hunter-turned-holy man stood and beckoned for us to follow him. I stood somewhat reluctantly. I went to my brother's side and put a hand on his arm. He peered at me nervously but I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way. To tell the truth, I felt as anxious as Sam. I wasn't sure what Jim had planned and I wasn't sure I really wanted to know what else the two demons had done to my brother. We all stood, my brother and I more slowly than the others and followed as the older men led the way.

Dad walked alongside Bobby and Rufus, the trio speaking too quietly for me to make out what they were saying.

I frowned when I realized that Jim was heading towards the basement. I stopped, still holding onto Sam, who was forced to halt as I did.

"Uh, Jim? Can't we do this up here?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable with going into the basement, even if it wasn't the basement that Sam had been held prisoner in, my thoughts immediately turned to the hell-hole.

"Everything we need is down there," Jim said softly but firmly, his expression sympathetic though as if he knew exactly why I was reluctant to venture downstairs.

I took a deep breath, told myself to stop acting like a sissy- if anyone had the right to be nervous about basements, it was Sam, not me- and nodded, "Okay."

I felt my brother's grip on my hand tighten and I squeezed back, "Nothing's gonna happen to you, Sammy."

He didn't reply and I hoped that Sam would trust me with this because I had to trust Jim and Bobby and Rufus on this one.

Jim opened the door to the basement and I made my way down the familiar rickety wooden steps, dust drifted down from the ceiling and I held back the sudden urge to sneeze.

Sam's grip on my hand tightened until it was painful and I wondered if we were doing the right thing, if we weren't just about to make things worse for him.

Once we reached the floor Sam balked- understandably- and peered around the dimly illuminated room with fearful eyes.

"No one is going to hurt you, Sammy," I squeezed his hand and whispered. My brother looked as though he expected Meg or Barclay to step out of the shadows.

"Dean? Please, can we go back upstairs?" he asked in a small voice, "I'm scared."

I patted my brother's hand comfortingly, "There's nothing to worry about, Sammy. Nothing's gonna hurt you. Dad and I are going to be right here the whole time."

Instead of putting Sam at ease, my words only seemed to frighten him.

"What do you mean? What are you going to do? Did I do something wrong?" He asked, cringing.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Sammy, nothing… we just want to make sure…" I hesitated, trying to find the right words, "We just need to make sure that you're okay."

I was doing a pretty shitty job of explaining what we were going to do without even really knowing what was going to happen myself. I rubbed my free hand down my face.

"Look Sam, trust me, okay?" I pleaded, "I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen, alright."

Sam lowered his head in that shy way of his so that his bangs flopped over his brow, "Okay, Dean."

I looked away from my brother and saw that the Devil's Trap- where I'd witnessed my first exorcism- was still painted on the floor. The chair that Tate the demon had been tied to still sat in its center.

I stared across the trap at the three hunters and my Dad. They all seemed so calm and sure of themselves. I took a deep breath and nodded at them.

Bobby stepped forward and I felt Sam tense beside me.

"Son, can you take a seat in this chair for me?" the grizzled hunter pointed to the chair sitting in the Devil's Trap.

My brother hesitated a moment and I gave him a tiny shove forward. Sam moved stiffly and crossed the painted lines of the trap to sit ramrod straight in the chair.

Bobby stood at the edge of the trap, "How are you feeling?"

Sam shifted in the chair for a moment, looking down so that his bangs covered his eyes, "Nervous."

Bobby nodded, "Is that all? Do you feel any pain?"

Sam shook his head once. Digging in his old brown vest, Bobby pulled out a silver flask and unscrewed the cap.

"Have a drink," Bobby said and reached out to Sam. My brother took the flask and sniffed at the mouth for a moment before putting it to his lips.

Holy water, I thought as I watched Sam take a few swallows and hand the vessel back to the hunter.

Bobby took the flask back, capped it and returned it to his vest, "You did really well, son."

Sam looked up hopefully, half-rising from the chair.

"Please stay there for another minute," Jim called across the room and took Bobby's place before the trap.

Sam looked past the Pastor and met my eyes. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up; a slight smile pulled at one side of my brother's mouth.

Jim took out an ancient-looking tome and flipped through the pages, "I'm just going to read something to you, Sam. You don't have to say anything, alright? Just listen."

My brother nodded and the Pastor cleared his throat, "Regna terrae, cantata Deo…"

Sam tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he listened to the lilt of the Latin words but otherwise showed no reaction to the Exorcism.

"Ecce dabit voci Suae," Jim continued quietly, "vocem virtutis, tribuite virtutem Deo."

The Pastor fell silent and snapped the book shut. Sam looked curiously up at him- probably wondering why the older man was reciting Latin mumbo jumbo at him- and then expectantly at me.

Jim turned to me and smiled. I felt hopeful that maybe we were overreacting and that those strange occurrences- the broken windowpanes, the strewn clothes and tossed drawers, the exorcised demon- were just coincidences. I mean, I was still new to the idea of the supernatural and felt sure that such things could be explained away.

Walking over to me, the Pastor clapped me on the shoulder, "We have one more thing we need to do."

I nodded. This wasn't as bad as I had feared it was going to be. Sam was even looking less uneasy now.

As Jim returned to stand by my father and Bobby, Rufus went into action. He strode forward and stepped right into the Devil's Trap with my brother. The hunter only stopped when he was standing right in front of Sam.

My brother peered up through his curtain of bangs, his hands gripping his knees tightly- I could see how white his knuckles were, even in the dim light of the basement- and I became nervous as well.

Rufus unfolded his arms, looking completely relaxed now.

The hunter's hand snaked out so fast I almost didn't see it. The resulting thwack sounded far too loud in the nearly empty basement.

Sam stared up at the older man in shock, his uninjured and going to his cheek.

"Hey!" I cried and stumbled forward. Rufus seemed to be picked up by an invisible hand and was flung across the room, his limp body slamming against the far wall. The lights flickered and then the bulbs shattered, plunging us all into darkness.

"Sam!" I heard my father shout and I darted forward, trying to get to my brother.

"Sammy!" I called out, ignoring the thudding of boots on concrete and the worried cries of the hunters and my father.

"Don't move, Sam," I said loudly, reaching my hands out to guide myself in the dark.

I started when I felt my fingers brush one of the chair arms and I quickly lowered my hand and grabbed Sam's thigh.

"Sam," I breathed, fearing that he'd attack me, "It's alright. You're okay."

"D-Dean," Sam muttered my name wetly, "I- I'm s-sorry. I d-didn't m-mean to!"

In the darkness I fumbled around until I had both hands on either side of my brother's face. I could feel dampness on his cheeks.

"Wh-why did he d-do that?" Sam asked, "Y-you said I w-wouldn't get hurt!"

I bit my lip, imagining my brother's green 'puppy-dog eyes'. With my hands on his cheeks, I checked for any injury and found none. There was no swelling or abrasions on his face.

"You're not hurt," I told him, "You're fine."

Sam shook his head underneath my grip.

I looked up, "Can we get some light?"

All the while I'd been talking to my brother; I had barely noticed the sound of movements coming from around us and I blinked owlishly when a white light suddenly illuminated the basement- Bobby had found a battery-powered lamp for emergencies on a shelf at the back of the room.

In the narrow glow of the lamplight I tried to catch a glimpse of Rufus, see if he was alright.

I saw Bobby and Jim flanking their friend as he sat with his back against the wall, a gash on his temple oozing blood down his face. Dad was splayed out on the bottom stairs, looking stunned but unharmed.

"Shit," I muttered and left my brother's side.

"Dad," I crouched down beside my father and shook his shoulder, "Are you okay?"

He groaned and blinked his dark eyes. He lifted his head and touched the goose-egg at the back of his head, grimacing.

I didn't think he had a concussion so I gave my Dad a pat on the chest and went back to my brother.

Sam was pale and trembling nervously, "I d-didn't mean to. I'm s-so sorry D-Dean."

I nodded, "I know. It's okay."

Sam lowered his face, ashamed I guess. I reached up and squeezed his shoulder.

"Let's go back upstairs, 'kay?" I asked and Sam nodded frantically. It was clear that he didn't want to be down here any longer.

Sam reached out and I took his wrist, feeling his heart pounding beneath his pulse point. I stopped once we were outside of the Devil's Trap and made my way over to the three hunters.

"Is Rufus going to be okay?" I asked tentatively.

Bobby nodded. Jim stepped up to me and set a hand on my shoulder.

"Once everyone calms down, we have to talk," the Pastor whispered and I stared wide-eyed at him.

I shook my head and turned away from him, "C'mon Sammy."

When we reached the stairs I reached down with my free hand and gripped my Dad's arm, pulling him up.

"You two go on up," Dad said, rubbing at the back of his head. I nodded and didn't look back as Sam and I carefully climbed the staircase in the near-dark.

I guided my brother into the living room and sat him down in his usual chair. I crouched down so that I was more or less eye-level him. Reaching up, I used my thumb to wipe away the dampness on one of his cheeks and then the other.

"It's okay Sam," I reassured him, "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Is Dad hurt?" he asked in a frightened whisper, "Or Rufus?"

"They'll be fine," I told him. I tensed slightly at the old hunter's name. He had hit my brother and that made me want to knock his teeth out.

I started to pat my brother's hand but he pulled it away, wrapping both arms around himself.

I sighed and stood up, heading into the kitchen to put water in the kettle.

Leaning against the counter, I peered into the living room, watching my brother. Sam was staring off into space and I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if he even trusted me anymore; I had told him he'd be safe and then let Rufus hit him- although not seriously injured, surely more shocked by the blow than anything else- without doing anything to stop him.

What was the point of striking Sam anyway? All that had done was… make him throw Rufus across the room…

I ran a hand through my hair, "Shit."

What did this mean? The Devil's Trap and holy water and exorcism had no affect whatsoever on Sam… but when Rufus had punched him that was when he'd reacted.

The kettle whistled shrilly to announce that the water had boiled and I poured some into a mug, plunking a bag of chamomile tea into the steaming water from the box of teabags on the counter.

I brought the drink out to my brother and set the mug down on table beside Sam's chair.

"Are you feeling alright, Sammy?" I asked quietly, crouching down in front of my brother.

Sam didn't answer but closed his eyes. I knew that sign- he was trying to shut himself away from the outside world- and realized that he wouldn't be talking to me anytime soon.

"You've got tea over here when you're ready for it," I told Sam and stood up, deciding that I should check on my Dad and the hunters.

I went to the top of the stairs and peered down.

"Do you need more light?" I called to them, squinting in the dim glow of the emergency lamp.

"There's a box of extra bulbs underneath the kitchen sink," Jim's voice spoke up and I nodded, glad to be doing something other than just sitting around.

Besides, when I made it back downstairs I could talk to the hunters and why they had done what they had to my brother.

Walking back into the kitchen, I crouched in front of the cupboards beneath the sink and rooted around for a moment- shoving aside the drying rack, bottle of dish soap, a box of S.O.S pads, and a shaker of Comet- before I finally found the light bulbs at the far back.

I didn't even bother looking at Sam; I knew he'd be just as I'd left him.

I stomped cautiously down the wooden staircase, box of light bulb pressed against my chest and my eyes narrowed in the near-dark.

At the bottom of the stairs I saw my Dad and the hunters clustered around the wall where Rufus had been thrown.

"Is there a ladder or something down here?" I asked Jim curtly, indicating the package of light bulbs in my hands.

"At the far end, by the shelf," Jim answered softly and Bobby stood to help me find my way.

I could sense the burly hunter at my side and I hissed at him, "What the hell was that about?"

I heard Bobby grunt noncommittally beside me and I glowered in the darkness.

"I'll let Jim explain, son," he rumbled, "It was his idea in the first place."

Left with that unsatisfying answer, I let Bobby help me with the ladder, dragging it to the first of the busted bulbs and quickly replaced it.

A short time later I had all the new bulbs in place and ran up the steps to turn on the light at the top of the landing. I didn't bother going back downstairs but returned to the living room and my brother.

Sam still had his arms wrapped around his middle but his eyes were open now. The cup of tea sitting beside him was untouched.

"Sammy?" I called his name but he didn't respond.

Sighing, I took a seat on the couch and rested my elbows on my knees, rubbing my face with my hands.

I hoped to hell that Jim had a good answer for doing what he had done. It was true that no one had been seriously hurt but I had trusted the man- had trusted Bobby and Rufus too- and they practically go behind my back just because they thought the demons had somehow messed with my brother.

Speaking of, I glanced back at Sam. He didn't seem different at all. He still looked the same but I couldn't deny what had happened after Rufus had hit him. Whatever was going on, it was clear that Sam had no control over it but what bothered me the most was why.

Why Sam?

Why now?

I guessed Jim had the answers to those questions and I just had to be patient and wait.

I stood and stretched, walking over and picking up Sam's cup of tea. My brother didn't even turn to watch me as I went into the kitchen and tossed the liquid into the sink and filled the kettle back up for more tea.

SPN

This was wrong. Sam knew it. This power or whatever it was, it felt wrong… tainted somehow in a way he couldn't explain.

Sam sucked in a deep breath. He wondered what Dean thought of him now. He had hurt his brother's friend, their father.

He hadn't meant to, of course. It had just happened. When Rufus hit him it all came rushing back- all those weeks of captivity, being tortured by Meg- and he'd just wanted to get away, wanted the hunter to go away.

Sam's fingers dug into his sides as he clutched his arms around his middle as though afraid he would fall to pieces if he let go.

There were so many things he didn't understand. He didn't understand why he was sick, why he had a mental illness. He didn't understand why the demons had come after him, had tortured him. He didn't understand this new power, where it came from or why it had chosen him.

Sam closed his eyes, feeling comforted by the darkness behind his eyelids. He could shut the world out this way, shut out all distractions.

SPN

I looked up expectantly when I heard four sets of footsteps on the wooden stairs that led down to the basement.

I drained the tea in my cup and set it down on the coffee table. I had been waiting for the hunters to reappear for ten minutes now, moving to the couch in the living room so I could keep an eye on my brother in case something else happened.

Standing, I glared at the other men.

"Now that you've had your little pow-wow, will you tell me what the fuck happened down there?"

"Dean!" Dad snapped but I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Did you know about this?" I demanded, recalling how I'd seen my father whispering rather conspiratorially with Bobby and Rufus.

"What? No! Of course not!" Dad looked stunned, "I had no idea that was going to happen."

I didn't react but turned my attention on to Jim. I could tell by the expression on his face that he knew I was pissed at him.

"You could have told me!" I growled and the Pastor nodded apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I knew you wouldn't want Sam to get hurt so I thought it best if I didn't say anything," he replied.

"Is Sam alright?" Dad spoke up and peered into the living room. Sam was still sitting with his arms wrapped around himself but his eyes were open again.

"Yeah," I muttered, "He's just confused as hell… we both are."

Jim walked past me and into the living room. I watched as Sam followed the older man with his eyes, tensing slightly as the Pastor took a seat on the couch.

"C'mon son," Bobby beckoned to me and the rest of us made our way into the living room. I went over to Sam and stood beside his chair, folding my arms over my chest.

Dad and Rufus sat down on the couch- probably still a little shaken up from being tossed across the basement- and Bobby remained standing, hands clasped behind his back.

"So?" I prompted, looking at Jim who apparently had all the answers.

"I think that the demons released a latent ability in your brother," Jim said quietly, rubbing his short beard as he spoke.

"What kind of ability?" I demanded. How could Sam throw two fully grown men across a room without touching them?

"A psychic ability," Rufus snapped and I scowled at the unspoken 'you moron' at the end of his answer.

"Psychic? What are you talking about? Like mind reading or something?" I asked and I could see that my Dad was just as confused.

"Psychic abilities encompass as wide spectrum, from clairvoyance to telekinesis," Jim explained softly.

I tried not to laugh. I mean, although everyone else was dead serious, this just seemed too science fiction to me.

"Okay, so say that Sam is psychic or whatever," I decided to humour the Pastor, "Why did the demons want to release that power?"

Jim's brow creased, "I do not think they are finished with your brother. Perhaps this is connected to the 'surprise' Meg spoke of."

"Oh no," I stepped forward as though Jim himself was the threat, "They are not getting their hands on Sammy again."

"Why didn't we know about this before?" Dad asked suddenly, "I mean, usually those psychics on TV know about their powers from a young age. Why did it take some demons torturing Sam for it to manifest?"

I bit my lip and waited for Jim's answer.

"Natural psychic ability is usually a gift some people are born with and they learn to develop it along with their other skills throughout childhood," Jim explained, "Like motor skills or social skills."

"So… Sam's ability isn't natural? Is that what you're getting at?" I asked, my mouth going dry.

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment, closing his eyes.

"It is possible that it was always there naturally but it was just never tapped into," Jim said, offering hope.

"Or?" Dad asked. I could see his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"I have never heard of someone being able to exorcise a demon without a trap or reciting the ritual out loud," Jim said.

My heart began to pound in my chest. I nearly jumped out of my skin when Sam's cold hand grabbed onto my elbow and I looked down at him, his green eyes wide and scared.

"Why pain?" I asked and uncrossed my arms, patting Sam's shoulder.

Jim shrugged, "That is all demons know. Perhaps they knew that Sam's ability would eventually surface as a defense mechanism."

That answer didn't really provide much information but I went along with it, thinking about the windows that had cracked during Sam's sleep, realizing that in his subconscious, while in the midst of a nightmare, my brother's power had been flaring out to protect him.

"How do we stop it?"

Rufus snorted and I glared at him.

"You can't stop it, boy!"

Jim held up a hand to silence his friend, "Sam should be able to control it though."

I let out a deep breath, "Okay, how do we control this?"

Bobby spoke up, "I have a friend who's psychic; she'll help yer brother."

I nodded. We might not know exactly why Sam had this ability or why, but at least we could do something to help him.

I glanced down at Sam and smiled. He didn't return to gesture but gulped nervously.

Everything was going to be okay, I told myself. Those demons messed with the wrong person when they'd taken Sam and now that we knew exactly what they'd done, I felt confident we could at least keep this strange new power from causing problems. Those monsters were not going to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Nine Inch Nails song.


	10. Mystic Rhythms

We sometimes catch a window

A glimpse of what's beyond

Was it just imagination

Stringing us along?

More things than are dreamed about

Unseen and unexplained

We suspend our disbelief

And we are entertained

-'Mystic Rhythms' by Rush

Sam fidgeted restlessly on the hard plastic chair and pulled his sleeves lower over his wrists. I flicked my gaze away from the magazine that I had on my lap and to the side, trying to decide if Sam was going to have a panic attack.

We were sitting in Blue Earth's tiny walk-in clinic. I reached a hand out to my brother, trying to comfort him but Sam shied away and I sighed.

"Wanna read a magazine?" I asked instead and Sam shook his head. His eyes darted furtively around the small waiting room and I wondered if we shouldn't just go back to Jim's place and get one of the hunters to get the cast off Sam's arm.

I glanced at the other people sharing the waiting room with us- an elderly couple, a woman with a dishtowel wrapped around her forearm and a father with a two little kids- and although none of them looked the least bit threatening, I knew that it was their presence making my brother nervous. Sam sometimes wasn't good around strangers; meeting new people made him anxious because he wasn't sure if they were real or not. And after what had happened with Meg and Barclay and Dad's possession, I didn't doubt that he imagined any one of these people could really be a demon in disguise.

The nurse at the welcome desk was watching Sam with a slightly suspicious look on her face so I glared at the woman, daring her to say something. The nurse's eyes went wide for a moment before she turned her attention back to her work.

I leaned back in the hard plastic chair and tossed the magazine I wasn't even reading onto the low end table. I fished my cell phone from my pocket and checked the time- we'd been waiting for twenty minutes already and it didn't look like we'd be moving anytime soon.

Sam pulled the hood of his sweater up over his head and seemed to be trying to hide in the soft fabric. His hands jittered on his knees and I wished I'd thought to bring one of his notebooks and a pencil.

A tiny nurse in fuchsia scrubs walked out from the hallway beside the welcome desk, clipboard in hand. I sat up expectantly but she didn't call Sam's name and the single father with the two little ones got up and followed her towards the examinations rooms. I slumped back in my seat.

Bored and impatient, I stood and made a slow circuit around the waiting room, pausing to pour myself a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the maker in the corner. I went back to my seat and sat down, sipping on the strong, hot beverage. It took me a few minutes to realize that Sam was muttering to himself, almost inaudibly, when I heard him hiss, "You're wrong."

I leaned closer to Sam, tilting my head so I could see his face beneath the hood of his sweater, "You okay?"

Sam didn't answer. He wasn't even looking at me; his gaze far away.

"Sam," I called his name, raising my voice so that it was only slightly quieter than my normal tone.

I watched as my brother's eyes slowly slid to focus on me. He looked like someone just waking up from a dream.

"You feeling okay?" I asked again, "We can leave if you want."

Sam shook his head and raised his arm- the one with the cast on it- from his lap, "I ju-just want th-this off."

I sat back, "I know. I'm sure they'll call us soon."

W

"Samuel Winchester?" the small, pink scrub-wearing nurse called fifteen minutes later. I stood up and stretched- damn those chairs seemed to be designed to give even the most physically fit person a backache- waiting for my brother to move.

Sam remained sitting where he was, watching the nurse with distrustful eyes. I gave the girl an apologetic look.

"C'mon Sammy," I cajoled, "I'll be right beside you the whole time, okay?"

My brother nodded and stood, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle and the hood of his sweater obscuring his face.

The young nurse looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and worry on her face.

"He… uh doesn't like hospitals much," I said lamely and shrugged.

The girl nodded her understanding, "This won't take very long, okay?"

Sam didn't even look at her and refused to answer. I sighed and followed the nurse as she led us down the hallway, Sam trailing along behind me.

We were shown into an exam room and the nurse closed the door, telling us that the doctor would be in shortly.

Yeah, I thought, a short fifteen minutes.

I sat down on the chair provided for patients and Sam took a seat on the doctor's swivel chair. Sam hunched over, apparently staring at his knees and said nothing.

"We'll be out of here and on our way back to Jim's in no time," I told Sam, unable to stand the silence in the room.

My brother nodded from beneath the hood of his sweater.

"What do you want for lunch when we get back?" I asked casually. Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Kraft Dinner?" I asked, "With ketchup?"

Another shrug.

I didn't say anything else, just rested my chin on the heel of my hand and decided to wait for the doctor in silence since it seemed as though I was only going to have a one-sided conversation anyway.

Surprisingly only five minutes had passed when the door opened and a nurse wearing lemon-yellow scrubs walked in. She was pushing a wheeled cart ahead of her and I saw what looked like an electric pizza cutter sitting on the sterile paper covering the top shelf.

"Good afternoon," she said in a friendly manner and I smiled at her.

Taking in my brother's appearance, the nurse- whose nametag read Krystal- glanced at me.

"Sammy," I said and stood, making my way across the small exam room and to my brother's side, "You gotta take off your hoodie."

Sam glanced up at me with a look of horror in his eyes as though I'd asked him to do something completely abhorrent. I guess I had. Sam felt safe while wearing the large sweater and taking it off would mean he was vulnerable.

"Maybe if you rolled up the sleeve," Krystal suggested and I nodded. I reached out and took hold of my brother's arm.

Slowly- slower than was normal- I gently rolled the sleeve up to just past Sam's elbow.

"Good boy," I whispered to Sam so the nurse wouldn't hear and gave his hand a squeeze. When I tried to pull away though, I couldn't, Sam still had his fingers tight around mine.

"Sam," I murmured, "You gotta let me go so the nurse can do her job."

Reluctantly Sam obeyed and released my hand. I didn't go back to my seat but crouched down beside the chair so Sam would know I wasn't about to leave him.

As Nurse Krystal prepared to remove Sam's cast, she talked, chatting, asking us questions, trying to keep my brother calm.

"Are you from around here?" she asked and I shook my head.

"We're just staying with friends," I answered and Krystal smiled, "That's nice. It's so pretty around here, don't you think?"

I said that yes, Blue Earth was very pretty, nicer than the big city we were familiar with.

"Where are you from?" Krystal asked unobtrusively. She turned on the electric pizza-cutter thing and it made a soft purring noise.

"Utica," I answered, "I'm a cop there."

"Oh!" Krystal looked slightly surprised before turning to Sam, her cheery expression becoming professional.

"Is this your first time having a cast taken off?"

Sam nodded once and wrapped his arm without the cast around his midsection.

"Okay, well, the first thing you need to know is that this device," Krystal held the pizza-cutter higher, "Is completely harmless. It won't cut you or anything; in fact, a lot of people say it tickles."

I nodded and hoped that my brother was listening. I watched as Krystal pressed the metal blade to her palm to show that it wouldn't hurt.

Sam tensed up and I bit my lip, praying that we'd get through the next few minutes without a hitch. I had had Jim take the splints off Sam's fingers- not that they were all that difficult to remove- before driving to the clinic, deciding that a professional should see to the cast instead of having a grizzled hunter hack away at it.

Now I was really beginning to reconsider my decision. Maybe Sam would have fared better just having Bobby or Rufus take the cast off, instead of a stranger.

C'mon Sammy, I thought, you can do this.

"Can you hold your arm out for me?" Krystal asked my brother, "Yes, just like that."

I saw Sam's arm tremble as he raised it and held it perpendicular to his body.

"It's okay, Sammy," I murmured, "I'm right here; I won't let anything happen to you."

Krystal smiled encouragingly as she lowered the pizza-cutter to Sam's arm. Starting at the top of the cast where it ended halfway up his forearm, the whirring blade made a screeching sound as it cut through the plaster.

I knew something was going to happen. I just knew it. I don't know why I didn't just pack my brother in car and drive back to Jim's while we waited for the nurse to call us.

Sam pulled his arm back with such force that the rolling chair he was sitting in, tipped backwards and spilled him out onto the tile floor.

Krystal let out a cry and dropped the pizza-cutter with a clatter, only frightening my brother further.

I leaped up, shoving the chair out of the way and fell on my knees beside my brother. I grabbed Sam's hoodie and tugged him up.

"Hey," I said through clenched teeth, "Hey, it's okay, it's okay."

I heard Krystal moving around behind me but ignored her. I needed to calm down my brother.

I glanced at Sam's expression and saw that his face was crumpled, tears running down his cheeks.

I sighed and pulled Sam into a tight hug. I heard Krystal leave the room and wondered if she was going to get security or something.

"I w-want to go home," Sam whimpered, "Sh-she was g-going to cut me."

"No," I whispered, "She wasn't going to hurt you."

Maybe we'd frightened the nurse away and she wasn't going to come back. That didn't solve anything though; Sam still needed his cast off.

I stood and pulled my brother up with me, settling him in my vacated chair. I glanced at the pizza-cutter and then back at Sam.

"We have to get that thing off of you," I began, speaking soothingly, "But I'm not sure Krystal will coming back."

Sam glanced at me warily. His eyes were red-rimmed and scared.

"I promise I won't hurt you," I told him and Sam nodded.

Nervously he outstretched his arm and waited.

"It will be over in a minute," I assured him and picked up the pizza-cutter, turning it on.

I couldn't help but clench my teeth together as I pressed the whirring blade to the plaster cast, expecting Sam to flinch back as he had done with the nurse. My brother didn't move. He had his eyes closed and he was trembling but he got through it. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cast fell onto the floor and Sam quickly rolled his sleeve back down.

"Good job, Sammy," I smiled and turned the cutter off and put it back on the cart.

My brother sniffed and gave me a ghost of a smile. Both of us glanced up when the exam room door opened and Krystal poked her head in. Her eyes took in my brother and the cast on the floor.

"Oh…um," she began, uncertain of how to proceed, "Well…"

I smiled charmingly and Krystal blushed.

"We can go now, right?" I asked and the nurse smiled, "Of course."

I could tell Krystal had no clue what to say or do; obviously I knew I probably shouldn't have taken Sam's cast off myself but it was unlikely he'd let anyone else do it.

"Listen, I didn't mean to get you into trouble or anything," I began when I reached the door. Sam stood behind me, too close and impatient to leave, "If anyone gives you trouble, tell them to talk to me."

I fished a pen from my jacket pocket and scrawled my cell number on the corner of a poster taped to the wall, ripping off the bit of paper, I handed it to the nurse.

"Oh… okay, thank you," Krystal said and blushed for the second time since I'd met her.

I nodded, told her it was no problem and gestured to my brother, "C'mon Sammy."

I walked beside my brother as we went down the hall, keeping an eye on him. Even though he was clearly in no danger and the perceived threat wasn't in sight, I was still concerned that Sam might have a panic attack or something.

W

The drive back to Jim's place was silent. I didn't even turn on the radio because I was concerned it might bother Sam.

He sat with his arms wrapped around his middle and his knees pulled up to his chest. He had tugged the hood of his sweater over his head so I couldn't see his face.

"How's your wrist feel?" I asked as I pulled into the rectory's parking lot and cut the engine.

"Stiff," Sam muttered his reply and opened his door.

I quickly got out of the car and hurried to catch up to my brother. Taking hold of his arm, I turned Sam around so he was facing me.

"Hey, what's wrong Sammy?" I asked. I knew that I probably shouldn't have grabbed Sam but I didn't care. I was worried about him. Hell, I was always worried about him, even before he'd been kidnapped by Meg and Barclay.

Sam had his head down so I tipped his chin up with my free hand and saw tears in his eyes.

"Sam? Sammy? What is it? Are you hurt?" I asked concernedly.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath and his tears overflowed, dripping down his face, "I'm… I'm a freak."

"No, Sam, you're not a freak," I said softly, "Why would you think that?"

"I'm… not normal…" Sam whimpered sadly, "There's something wrong wi-with me."

"Sammy," I whispered and pulled him into a hug. At first Sam didn't respond, his muscles rigid and unyielding but after a long moment he relaxed. I thought about the first time Mom and I had seen Sam in Alexander's. It hadn't been a good visit. Sam was irritable and a little antagonistic. He had shut both of us out and glared at Mom and me when he did look up from whatever he had been sketching. When it came time for us to leave, Sam broke down. He wanted to go home with us, even though he knew he couldn't. He had asked Mom and I if we thought he was crazy, if we thought he was a freak. Mom had tears in her eyes as she assured Sam that he wasn't a freak and he wasn't crazy; that he was just sick and he would get better. I don't think Sam believed her, even back then.

Now I could feel Sam shaking against me, his body wracked with sobs. I reached a hand up and placed it against the back of his head, almost tangling my fingers in his hair.

I was a little shocked that Sam was allowing this much physical contact- even with me- but didn't question it and certainly wasn't going to be the one to pull away first.

"We're going to figure this out," I murmured confidently, "Everything's going to be alright."

I wasn't sure if I was lying or not. There seemed to be no point in being pessimistic, especially when it came to Sam so I assured him that it was all going to be okay in the end.

As I expected, Sam let go of my middle and stepped back. He wrapped his arms around his midsection and sniffed a couple of times, his face still damp with tear-tracks.

"Let's… let's go inside, okay?" I said, not really feeling up to seeing the hunters or my Dad but there was nowhere else for us to go.

Sam nodded and wiped his face with his sleeve. He followed close behind me as I stepped up to the front door. I didn't even bother knocking. I just turned the doorknob and let myself in.

"Hey, we're back!" I called and heard Jim answer, "How did it go?"

As I stepped further into the house to find the Pastor, Sam made a bee-line for his chair in the den, sitting down and pulling his knees up to his chin, his arms wrapped around his legs.

I heard Jim's footsteps approach from the hall. He entered the living room and glanced concernedly at my brother.

"We got the cast off," I answered with a sigh.

Jim's brows knitted together, "What went wrong?"

I glanced over my shoulder at Sam but he seemed to be lost in his own world so I told Jim what had happened when Nurse Krystal had tried to cut the cast off herself.

The Pastor frowned, "Hopefully he's receptive to Bobby's friend."

I nodded. Sam could become very despondent, anti-social at times, especially when meeting new people. It wasn't his fault, not really, he just was never sure if an unfamiliar face was actually real or a product of his mental illness. What was really depressing about the whole thing was that Dr. Calhoun had yet to find a combination of medications that would work for Sam in the long-term so he was used to seeing and hearing people who were not actually there.

I let out a deep breath and raked my fingers through my hair, "Uh, where's Dad?"

"With Bobby and Rufus, learning the basics," Jim answered, "Would you care for some tea? I just made some."

Sure, I shrugged, why not? It wasn't like I was leaving anytime soon.

I went into the living room and sat down in a chair near the one my brother was occupying. Sam still had his knees against his chest and his crossed over his legs but his eyes were now closed.

I decided to let Sam calm down on his own terms and instead wondered how Dad was getting along with the two veteran hunters.

Dad was planning on driving back home later tonight and was learning how to protect himself against demons. No one wanted another possession like the one when Dad had first arrived at the rectory. Saying that he wouldn't be very much help here, Dad had told us that he would go back to New York and let everyone know Sam and I were alright. He would talk to Dr. Calhoun and calm her down- hopefully- and let Jimmy know I wouldn't be coming back to the station for a while.

I looked up when Jim came into the room with a tray with a teapot and three mugs. He glanced sympathetically at Sam before setting the tray down on the coffee table.

I took the offered cup gratefully when Jim poured tea into it and sat back.

"Have you heard anything about you know who, yet?" I asked the Pastor quietly, not speaking Meg and Barclay's names out loud with Sam still getting over what had happened at the clinic.

Jim shook his head, "There've been signs but no one has seen any demons fitting their descriptions."

I nodded. I knew that didn't mean much. For all we knew, the gruesome twosome could have switched as soon as they left Sam in that basement.

"How are you doing, Dean? Really?" the Pastor asked and I raised an eyebrow.

"Me? I'm fine," I commented and took a long drink of tea.

"Supernatural business aside," Jim pressed, "Don't you miss home? Your work, your partner?"

I shrugged. Sure I felt a little homesick and this was the longest time I'd spent away from the station since I started working with Jimmy but I couldn't do anything about it until we got everything sorted out. So there was no use in complaining about it.

"The only thing I'm worried about is Sam," I told the Pastor.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I had planned to make lunch once we left the clinic. Setting my cup of tea down, I stood.

"Mind if I use the kitchen?" I asked and Jim made a 'be my guest' gesture.

"Thanks," I said and the Pastor followed me as I grabbed a box of macaroni and cheese from the pantry and a pot from the cupboard.

"Do you know when Bobby's friend will meet us?" I asked as I ran water from the kitchen sink into the pot.

"Tomorrow," Jim answered and I paused, "That soon, eh?"

"Is that alright?" Pastor Jim asked and I nodded.

"It's just… what if she can't help Sam?" I confessed my fear.

"Than we'll try something else," Jim said, his tone upbeat.

I nodded, trying to keep the positive attitude I'd had when Bobby first suggested we visit his friend.

SPN

Sam tried to listen as his brother spoke with Pastor Jim, he tried as hard as he could but the voices in his head were loud and they drowned out the conversation.

You're a freak. Crazy.

Dean's going to send you away.

They're going to lock up and throw away the key.

I'm not a freak! I'm just sick! Sam thought desperately and opened his eyes, glancing at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Your own father can't stand to look at you.

He's changed, Sam told himself; he's trying to make things better between us.

Nothing will change. You'll go back home and he'll never come to visit, just like always.

I'm going to get well again, Sam thought, I will.

Hasn't happened yet. You just keep taking all those pills but you're still sick.

Sam put his hands over his ears as though that would help block out the voices and groaned miserably.

"Sam? Sammy?! Are you okay? What's the matter?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper, barely audible over the taunting voices in Sam's head.

"…Never gettn' better… freak… crazy… Dad hates me…" Sam ground out incoherently.

He saw Dean glance down at his watch and swear, "Okay Sammy, it'll be okay."

Sam wanted to reach out to his brother when Dean stood up and turned away.

See? Dean's leaving you. Just like everyone else.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes as he stared at his brother's back.

No Dean, Sam wanted to cry out, don't leave me!

A hand on his arm made Sam jump and he was staring into Pastor Jim's concerned brown eyes.

"Take deep breaths, Sam," the Pastor instructed and Sam realized he was almost panting, "Nice and slow."

Sam nodded, took a couple of shuddering breaths and tears blurred his vision.

He feels sorry for you. He pities you. He knows you're broken.

"It's alright, son," Jim said, "Calm down now."

Where was Dean? Had he really left? Had he driven off with Dad, back to Utica?

Sam could barely think with the voices taunting him, relentless.

All he wanted to do was curl up and be left alone.

"Sam," Jim's sharp tone drew the young man's attention back to him, "Listen to me."

Sam nodded almost frantically.

The Pastor had a book in his hands; he flicked it open to a specific page and began reading out loud:

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both," Jim began quietly and Sam strained to hear over the chatter in his head.

"And be one traveler, long I stood," he continued. Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly.

"And looked down one as far as I could," Jim's voice was beginning to sound louder, clearer, "To where it bent in the undergrowth."

Sam listened to the Pastor recite the poem and the longer Jim spoke, the quieter the voices became.

"…I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference," Jim finished and closed the book, glancing up at Sam.

The young man drew his hands away from his ears. Jim smiled encouragingly.

Dean appeared from inside the kitchen, carrying a tray with a bowl of Kraft Dinner, a glass of milk and a selection of pills on it.

He set the tray down on the coffee table and motioned Sam over to sit on the couch, an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry I forgot, Sammy," Dean commented as Sam moved over to the couch. Sam didn't begrudge his brother; he spent most of his time at Alexander's so it was no surprise that Dean might forget when Sam had to take his meds.

Wishing to drown out the voices as quickly as possible, Sam took the pills Dr. Campion had prescribed first, washing them down with huge gulps of milk.

Although Sam wasn't really hungry, he knew that the pills would make him sick if he didn't. Picking up the bowl of macaroni and the spoon, he began eating.

Dean stuck close to Sam, probably worried that he was going to freak out again, while he ate lunch.

Sam felt much better after he had finished; his belly full and the voices quiet.

W

Dean insisted Sam get some rest.

Sam wasn't tired though. He picked up one of notebooks as he sat on the bed, flipping through the pages.

He smiled down at the sketches he had drawn of Jessica and sighed.

"You wouldn't have thought I was crazy," he said quietly, thinking of his late girlfriend.

He wished Jess was with him. She had been fearless. She'd never been afraid of anything. Always the one to try new things- from food to activities- Jess had helped bring Sam out of his shy shell and her bubbly personality had rubbed off on him.

And then she had died.

Everyone was so certain that seeing Jess burn up in that apartment fire had been the trigger that had been the first instance when his mental illness manifested. But Sam knew what he had seen. He knew that her death had been no accident. But he couldn't seem to convince anyone otherwise. Not even Dean, who always seemed to believe him.

Sam thought back to that horrible night, just days after Halloween. It had been the first or second of November, he was sure of it. He had had a late lecture and had spent a good twenty minutes after class talking to the professor, returning to the apartment he and Jessica shared just off campus, in the dark.

Sam hadn't known that anything was wrong. He remembered clearly going into the bedroom and laying down on the bed, eyes closed because he was tired- the shower was running and he figured he'd wait until Jess was finished- and looked up when he felt something warm and wet drip onto his face.

Jess was suspended above him, wearing a silky white nightgown her mouth open in a silent scream, blood dripping down from a gash in her belly.

Sam had frozen with fear, in disbelief. He'd stared wide-eyed as flames seemed to sprout from the ceiling and surrounded his girlfriend. The flames had licked hungrily, greedily at her clothes, her hair, her skin and yet Sam could not move. All he could do was watch helplessly.

Over the crackle and hiss of the fire, Sam barely heard a voice calling his name. His friend Brady had come by for a visit- letting himself in- and had seen the orange glow of flames from the apartment's small living room.

By the time Brady had reached Sam, the fire had spread across the ceiling and was quickly chewing up the walls. Sam had been roused from his paralysis when his friend grabbed him and tried to drag him away from the bedroom.

Sam didn't remember much of what happened but according to Brady, he had pulled himself out of his friend's grasp and had ran back towards the flames, calling Jessica's name. Brady had gone after him, trying to grab him again.

According to his friend, Sam had been staring at the ceiling with a panicked expression, his eyes wide and tear-filled, heedless of the fire creeping closer and closer to him.

Brady had made a grab for Sam only to have the young man punch him in the face. Sam had been thrown off balance by the movement and had fallen onto his hands and knees, burning himself in the process.

Realizing that Sam wasn't going to leave on his own, Brady had grabbed the young man's shirt and heaved him up, shoving him out the bedroom door and guiding him through the smoke-filled apartment and out into the hallway where they were met by firefighters checking to make sure everyone had evacuated the building.

No one believed Sam when he told them what he had seen. Not even Brady.

"You were completely out of it, Sam," he had told the youngest Winchester in a sympathetic tone, "You were upset and you did inhale a lot of smoke… maybe you just thought you saw Jess on the ceiling."

What troubled Sam the most wasn't the way in which Jessica had died but the mystery of who would want to kill her. As far as Sam knew, Jess had had no enemies; she was friendly and kind to everyone and never held a grudge. Who would want to hurt someone who had never harmed anyone in her entire life?

Sam was brought from his reminisces by a knock on his bedroom door. Looking up from the notebook, Sam saw his father peering into the room.

"I'm just about to head home and Dean said you were up here," he said quietly, "I wasn't sure if you were sleeping or not… I didn't meant to bother you-"

Closing the notebook and putting it aside, Sam smiled at his father.

"Are you going to talk to Dr. Calhoun?" Sam asked quietly.

John nodded, "I'll let her know that you're alright and that you're taking medication."

"Am I going back there?" Sam wanted to know. He really hoped he wouldn't have to.

"I don't know yet," John said truthfully, "But don't you worry about that, okay?"

Sam nodded; he was going to worry about going back to Alexander's.

Without stepping into the room or coming near his son, John wished Sam good luck and closed the door.

At least he's talking to me; Sam thought and glanced down at the notebook once more.

SPN

Dad looked nervous as he stood on doormat in front of the rectory. I didn't blame him. Besides a long overdue chat with Dr. Calhoun, Dad had agreed to speak with Jimmy so that he could let Captain Baggot know what was going on. I guess I could have called the Captain myself but by now the man would tear my head off as soon as I greeted him over the phone.

"Here John," Bobby said and handed him a small round pendent, "You'll want to keep that close, wards off possession."

Dad nodded.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, Dean?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "Yes, Dad. Don't worry about us."

"Take care of your brother," he told me and I held back the urge to tell him that I was pretty much the only one who was.

"I'll call you when I get home," Dad said and turned, walking to his car without another word.

"Not much for goodbyes is he?" Bobby asked and I chuckled, shaking my head.

We stood and watch as Dad pulled out of the rectory driveway and onto the quiet street, disappearing when he rounded a curve.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, closing my eyes for a moment.

"You alright, son?" Bobby asked and I nodded, opening my eyes.

"I just hope he gets back to Utica safely," I confessed. Even though Dad drove me up the wall a lot of the time- especially when it came to Sam- I didn't want anything to happen to him.

"Rufus and I made sure to cover everything," Bobby told me, "Besides, from what the demon said… its threat… seemed like a one-time thing. You're father was just convenient."

"Okay," I said and went back inside, the grizzled hunter following along behind me.

W

Sam sat quietly in the backseat of the Oldsmobile early the next morning. I was riding shotgun and Bobby would be driving. I was not looking forward to the almost seven hour journey to Chicago.

Rufus and Jim were going to work on trying to track down Meg and Barclay while we were gone. I didn't envy them; so far the two demons had managed to keep themselves hidden really well.

"You okay, Sammy?" I asked, turning in my seat to look at him. He had his head down, a notebook balanced on his lap and a pencil poised in his hand.

My brother nodded once, his sketch taking his full concentration.

"Can we turn on some music or something, Bobby?" I asked and reached for the radio.

"Sure," the grizzled hunter pushed my hand out of the way and Joni Mitchell's gentle but clear voice came from the speakers, singing about big yellow taxis and tree museums and pesticides.

I saw Bobby grin from the corner of my eye and sat back, realizing I was not going to be changing the station.

Yes, this was going to be a long drive.

W

The drive took almost eight hours rather than the seven because we had to make a few stops. We ate take-out lunches but Sam needed to stretch his legs. He couldn't sit in the cramped backseat of the Oldsmobile the entire time so we took a couple of half-hour breaks at rest stops along the way.

Bobby pulled the car up in front of a pretty two-storey house with white-trimmed windows and dark red bricks. The flower gardens in the front were neat and well taken care of, the lawn had recently been mowed.

The grizzled hunter moved first, leading the way to the front door. I glanced at my brother; his shirt was slightly wrinkled and his hair fell into his eyes. He had graphite smudges on his hands from sketching.

I shrugged; I didn't think Bobby's friend would turn us away just because Sam wasn't wearing a tux.

I felt Sam's hand creep around my wrist as I stood behind Bobby, waiting for him to announce our presence.

The grizzled hunter rang the bell and the door opened almost immedietly, revealing a woman who looked to be in her thirties or early forties with long black hair, an olive complexion and brown eyes. She was wearing a purple tank top and skinny jeans; her feet were bare.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed and wrapped her long arms around the hunter's broad shoulders.

"Hello to you too, Pam," the man grunted and looked over at Sam and I once his friend had let him go.

"This is Dean and Sam Winchester," he said, "Boys, this is my good friend, Pamela."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Rush song.


	11. Clairvoyant Disease

There's nowhere to run and hide

When you're living to die

Stuck alone inside your head,

Better off dead

The phone would ring in the empty house,

No one's around

Don't acknowledge right, just dwell on wrong

This spot in hell's where I belong

I've come so far- it's been so long

Don't know why it started or where it came from

But in my life, I wanted more;

I needed more, I taste more.

-'Clairvoyant Disease' by Avenged Sevenfold

Pamela smiled, "I hear you're a cop."

I grinned back, momentarily forgetting that we were not here on a social call.

"You want to see my gun?" I asked, flirting. Before Pamela could answer, Bobby nudged my shoulder and I cleared my throat, "Uh, so Bobby said you might be able to help us?"

Pam nodded and ushered us inside. The house wasn't really what I'd expect of a psychic. It looked… normal. There were no bead curtains in the doorways or crystals or incense burners. No new age music was playing from the stereo system in the living room.

Pam stepped into the kitchen doorway, "Sit down. Would you like anything to drink? I have beer."

A cold brew would have been nice and I almost asked for one but then I thought of Sam and shook my head, "Water would be great."

"Suit yourself," She flicked her long black hair over her shoulder and turned away.

Bobby led us into the living room and I sat down on the couch; Sam settling beside me. He was holding the notebook he had brought tightly in one hand, the other fiddling with the pencil.

I reached out and put my hand over Sam's holding the pencil to still him. He glanced at me, his expression guilty as though he was a little kid caught in the act of doing something naughty.

Sam stopped fidgeting and sat with his head down. I looked up and met Bobby's eyes. Pam entered the living room, a glass of water in one hand.

I took the offered water and thanked the psychic. She took a seat in the chair across from Bobby's.

"So, how can I help?" Pam asked, "Bobby told me about Sam's ability-"

I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious. What exactly had Bobby told this Pamela? Sure, she was a friend of Bobby's but that didn't mean I immediately trusted her, especially with my brother.

"All we came here for is advice on how to control this thing," I interrupted, speaking more forcefully than necessary.

Pam looked slightly startled.

"Dean," Bobby said, "I told Pam that."

"I can help your brother better if I know more about his powers," she said, "What they are, when they began-"

"No," I said, "Just fix this."

"Winchester!" Bobby growled, "She's not going to hurt your brother!"

"She doesn't need to know everything!" I snapped. I didn't want to tell Pamela about Sam. I didn't want her to know about Sam's illness. I was all too familiar with the way people reacted whenever they found out that Sam was sick. I'd be labeled as the poor, brave police officer with the crazy brother and see pity in the eyes of everyone I came into contact with. People would retreat from Sam, afraid that he would go Dahmer on them or that his illness was somehow contagious.

Sam, who had opened his notebook and was quietly sketching, looked up and spoke, stopping all argument.

"You should know that I'm crazy."

"Sammy," I said, "You're not crazy. Don't say that… you're just sick."

Pam, ignoring everyone else, addressed my brother, "I knew something was different about you the moment I saw you."

Sam shrugged as though it wasn't a big deal and continued drawing.

I turned to the psychic and sighed. I guess I had no choice in the matter. Sam had opened the can of worms for me.

Together, Bobby and I told Pam about Sam's rescue from the demons at Alexander's. I didn't go into all the details of the circumstances leading to Sam's diagnosis; I just told her that he was in college when he discovered to have paranoid schizophrenia. As quickly and painlessly as possible, Bobby and I spoke of Sam's kidnapping and what happened to him at the hands of the demons and- most importantly- the strange occurrences that started happening after my brother's rescue.

"Jim Murphy doesn't think this is… natural," I said tightly. I was hoping that Sam's psychic ability had just been hidden or something. I didn't want to think that it had anything to do with what Meg and Barclay had done to Sam.

Pam nodded, "Many psychics discover their powers at a young age. It is very rare that it should be concealed."

My shoulders slumped.

"Could the demons have done something to the boy to create this ability rather than just activate it?" Bobby asked and Pamela raised her hands in a bemusement, "I don't know. I'm not an expert on demons, Bobby. I leave that to you."

I stared wide-eyed at Sam. Was there something he wasn't telling us? As though he knew I was looking at him- he probably was well aware of my scrutiny- he spoke without even looking up, "Meg said she was waiting for something."

"I know that Sammy," I said, slightly exasperated.

"Either way," Pam interjected, "Natural or not, I should be able to help Sam get a grip on his powers."

I smiled. Sam, his hand still, looked up with red-rimmed eyes.

SPN

Barclay shoved the young man and he fell onto his hands and knees. The boy stared down at the mural on the floor of the abandoned church, choking back sobs of terror and pain.

"Open it," a male voice called from the shadows and the blond-haired young man cringed.

"I-I don't kn-know what you're t-talking about," the boy whimpered piteously.

"Open the Door," the voice commanded and the young man shook his head, "I c-can't! I d-don't know h-how!"

Meg darted forward and pushed the young man's head down towards the floor. The boy whimpered, trying to squirm out from the demon's hold.

"Enough!" the man snapped and strode forward. Meg released the boy and stepped down, folding her hands before her humbly.

"You have failed me again," the man sneered and the female demon nodded.

"I am sorry father," she said quietly, "I thought he would be able to open the Door."

Azazel's yellow eyes flashed, "You were wrong. Can you retrieve another child?"

The small demon perked up, "Yes, father!"

"Good," he said, "Dispose of this garbage before you go."

Azazel flicked his hand towards the young man and there was a wet crack, the boy's body collapsed to the floor, his neck broken.

SPN

Sam shifted uncomfortably on the hardwood floor of Pamela's living room. The psychic sat cross-legged, her hands holding Sam's.

"Clear your mind," Pamela instructed, "Try not to think of anything."

Sam stopped thinking or at least he tried to. It was difficult. His mind was almost constantly buzzing with some thought. The only time it hadn't been was when Dr. Calhoun had prescribed him a new medicine a few years ago. The medication had stopped the voices for a long while but it had also made Sam's mind feel oddly slippery, preventing thought from forming or taking hold for very long. Sam had hardly been able to concentrate on a simple conversation with Dean or his mother for more than five minutes. Dr. Calhoun had stopped giving Sam that particular medication after he'd fallen down a flight of stairs in the emergency stairwell and broken his ankle.

"Sam," Pamela called his name and the young man opened his eyes. The psychic was watching him, "You're still thinking."

"Sorry," Sam muttered and closed his eyes again, sighing out a deep breath.

Dean and Bobby weren't in the room. Sam didn't know where they were but he was sure his brother was close by.

"Okay, Sam," Pamela said, "I'm going to try and find your power. This may feel a little strange but it shouldn't hurt, okay?"

Sam nodded but his brow furrowed in concern.

"Relax," the psychic said and Sam once again forced himself to think of nothing.

The young man gasped when he suddenly felt a pressure inside his head, as though there was a balloon inside his skull.

"It's just me," Pamela murmured and squeezed Sam's hands comfortingly.

The feeling was so foreign that Sam was suddenly frightened and wanted it to go away, whether it was painful or not.

"Sam," Pam said in a warning tone, "Don't do that."

A long whine escaped from Sam's lips and he pulled his hands out of Pam's. The pressure was building- still not painful- as though his head was going to explode.

Pam swore and opened her eyes. Sam curled in on himself, hands tugging at his hair.

The psychic grabbed Sam's wrists and held on, "Sam, its alright. Calm down."

Sam pulled himself from Pam's grip and began backing up, his feet pushing against the hardwood floor.

With the physical contact broken between him and the psychic, the pressure in Sam's head was quickly fading.

Sam didn't want to do this. He wanted to go back to Pastor Jim's, no, he wanted to go to Dean's place, where he'd always felt safe and secure, where no one thought he was a freak.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and he hid his face by pulling up the hood of his sweater.

"Sam," Pamela said, moving towards him, "Sam, its alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Go away!" Sam cried, "Leave me alone!"

He closed his eyes and heard the tinkling of breaking glass. Pamela swore and he heard her footsteps move away from him, towards the far side of the living room.

Sam cringed fearfully; now Pam was going to be angry at him for breaking something.

You can't be fixed.

Sam whimpered when the voice wheedled its way into his head and hissed at him.

You're just a freak.

Dean's going to lock you up and throw away the key.

Sam let out a choked sob and shook his head desperately.

"Sam? Sam," Pam called and her footsteps hurried towards him.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Sam jumped when he felt the psychic's hand on his cheek.

"Let me help you," she urged and took hold of Sam's hands once again. This time Sam didn't pull away.

"Copy me, Sam," Pam's voice said, "Breathe in, breathe out… in, out, in, out… that's it."

The young man opened his eyes to slits. He could barely see Pam's face but that was good.

"Y-you're nuh-not mad at me?" he asked quietly, fearfully.

"No, of course not!" Pamela exclaimed, "Just between you and me, that vase was from my ex's mother… I never liked it, ugly piece of crap."

Sam smiled slightly. He barely noticed the pressure building slowly in his head again as Pamela once again tried to come into contact with his power.

"You're doing real good, Sam," the psychic muttered encouragingly, her voice tense with concentration.

SPN

Bobby had to almost move me bodily from Pamela's living room when she said that she could begin helping Sam with his powers. I didn't want to let my brother out of my sight. I knew that Sam was a gentle giant, really, but he had managed to use his strange ability to throw Dad and Rufus across the basement as though they were paper dolls. I knew that if Sam felt like he was in danger he would react- and react without thinking- but Bobby assured me that Pam could hold her own.

Bobby led me down the sidewalk away from Pam's house, past well-maintained houses and manicured lawns. People outside cutting their grass or playing with their kids in the yard waved to us in a friendly manner even though we were strangers.

"Rufus and I've been looking at demon omens all over the country," Bobby said in a hushed tone.

Ah, so this is why he wanted us to take a little stroll. Either he knew demons was a touchy subject around Sam or he didn't want Pamela to get involved with the really bad side of the supernatural.

"And? Did you find anything?" I asked almost hesitantly. I wanted to find Meg and Barclay and make them pay for what they'd done to Sam but I didn't want to leave my brother, even if it was with Pastor Jim.

"It's been oddly quiet," the hunter answered and I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Bobby shrugged helplessly, "Since you and Sam came to Jim's place, there have been no demonic omens anywhere. It looks like all the bastards are laying low for some reason."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. This didn't sound good to me. As a cop, I knew that when it looked like nothing was happening, something was definitely happening.

"Something tells me demons don't just take vacations," I said and Bobby nodded, "They don't. Something's up."

"What though? How do we find out?" I asked and ran a hand through my hair.

"Keep watching for anything unusual," Bobby explained, "S'all we can do."

I didn't really like that idea but I knew there wasn't really much we could do. It wasn't like there was a demon nearby who'd be willing to ask why his buddies were MIA.

Bobby, changing the subject, sighed, "Look, this thing with your brother… whether or not its natural don't make no difference. We'll still protect him, you know that."

"I know," I muttered, "Its just… why's all this happening to Sam? He's never hurt anyone before… he already has enough shit to deal with…"

Bobby nodded in sympathy, "Bad things happen to good people. I don't know why… Fate, Destiny, whatever you want to call it… Jim would probably tell you that God's testing your brother or something like that…"

I bit my lip. My family seemed to have such a string of bad luck that appeared to centre around my brother for some reason.

I wished that for once something good could happen for Sam. God knew the kid deserved a break.

I tipped my chin upwards and stared at the blue sky, wondering if there in fact was a god looking down on us, watching my brother and preparing yet another tragedy for us to deal with.

Scowling, I looked back at Bobby, "Can we go back now?"

The hunter checked his watch and nodded, "Sure. Let's see if Pam was able to get through to your brother."

I resisted the urge to pick up the pace and was forced to match Bobby's leisurely stroll.

Please let this have worked, I thought almost desperately. There was just too much crap in Sam's life already that he didn't need to be burdened down with this telekinetic-psychic-whatever it was.

SPN

Sam's ability was unlike anything Pam had ever encountered before. Not that she was the expert on psychic abilities but she at least liked to think she knew a thing or two. The young man's psychic aura was incredibly turbulent, wild; it was clear that he had not learned how to control his powers.

Pam had a feeling it would take a lot longer than just one afternoon for Sam to get a grip on his psychic ability. It seemed as though she could only get a small glimpse of the boy's potential abilities, that there was something much larger- and perhaps darker- lying underneath, like an iceberg.

Pam came back to herself and peered around her living room. She patted Sam's hand and the young man blinked sleepily at her.

"C-Can y-you really help me?" he asked and Pam tried to smile confidently.

"Close your eyes again," she instructed and sighed inwardly.

Sam's psychic aura throbbed like a heartbeat, a sickly yellow hue. Pamela had never seen anything like it. An aura usually took on a green or blue colour. Something was not right about this.

Still, Pamela had never backed down from a challenge and she wasn't about to start now.

"Sam, open your eyes for me," she said quietly and Sam did so, a hopefully expression on his face.

"I'm still with you," Pam explained, "I'm going to help you get a handle on your powers okay?"

Sam nodded his understanding and looked at her expectantly.

"You see that magazine on the coffee table?" Pam asked, not even turning to look behind herself at the table.

"Yes," Sam replied quietly.

"I want you to make it fall off the table without touching it."

Pamela closed her eyes again and gave Sam's powers a gentle push with her own, the emerald green of her aura nudging against the yellow of his. Although the young man's power was active, it was untamed, it flared up subconsciously. Pamela had to encourage it to work with the boy instead of against him.

Concentrating, Pamela listened intently for the sound of the magazine hitting the floor.

"Sam, you have to help me out here too," she commented, "I can't do this without you."

"I can't even feel my power!" he lamented, squeezing Pam's hand tightly.

"Relax," Pam murmured, "Try to block out everything but the sound of my voice."

"O-okay."

"Picture the magazine in your mind's eye," Pam instructed, "Imagine it falling off the coffee table."

The psychic gasped when Sam's power shrank down unexpectedly.

Frowning, Pam knew that this wasn't going to take one afternoon.

"Let's take a break, okay?"

Sam opened his eyes and lowered his head, sadly.

"You'll get it," Pam said, "It just takes practice."

SPN

Sam couldn't help but feel ashamed when Dean asked if Pamela had been able to help him gain control over his powers.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered and wrapped his arms around his middle.

"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for, Sammy," Dean replied and squeezed his shoulder quickly before dropping his hand, "Rome wasn't built in a day."

Sam didn't crack a smile like he was expected to. He didn't have anything to be happy about. He couldn't be fixed.

Pulling his legs up, Sam rested his cheek against his knees.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, coming to sit on the couch beside him, "Sammy, you alright?"

He shook his head. He felt Dean grip the back of his neck and squeeze gently.

"Pam's going to help you, okay?" Dean assured him.

"Nuh-No," Sam whispered, "It w-won't work."

"Yes, it will Sam," Dean lowered his head, trying to stare at his brother but the younger sibling closed his eyes.

"Son, maybe he needs a bit of a rest," Bobby's voice spoke up from across the room.

"I have a guest bedroom upstairs," Pamela offered, her voice wavering.

"Hear that, Sammy?" Dean asked, "Want to take a nap?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to sleep. He just wanted to go home.

Sighing, Sam lifted his head and peered into Dean's concerned hazel eyes.

"It's going to get better, Sammy," Dean said desperately, "I promise you that."

The younger brother nodded but he couldn't help but feel that no matter how many time Dean promised, nothing would get better.

W

The Winchesters and Bobby stayed at Pamela's house for two more days. The psychic continued to help Sam without much success. Dean tried to remain confident but Sam grew more and more depressed.

He really was a freak. Not even Pamela could help him.

He listened in on the woman speaking quietly with Bobby and Dean. They didn't know Sam was listening to them; they believed he was asleep.

"I just don't understand it," Pam whispered quietly, confusedly, "His abilities are so… different… Sam can't seem to tap into them."

"Is there anything we can do?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure," the psychic answered, "I'll admit that I've never had to help someone find their power. This was new for me too. I thought I could do it."

"You tried your best, Pam," Bobby's voice said comfortingly and Sam heard the woman sigh.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go back to Blue Earth," Bobby replied, "Keep searchin' for a way to help Sam take control of this."

"I'm not sure he can control it," Pam murmured.

"He can! He has to!" Dean exclaimed, his voice rising, "There has to be a way!"

"If there is," Pamela said, "I don't know it."

Sam squeezed his eyes tight when he heard footsteps enter the living room and he glanced up when he felt Dean touch his shoulder.

"Sammy? Hey, wake up, bro."

"Dean?" Sam asked, feigning grogginess.

"We're going to head back to Jim's," Dean told him and Sam sat up, "Okay."

Dean peered down at him concernedly, "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Sam answered quickly.

Standing, Sam followed his brother out of the living room, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head. Dean bade Pamela goodbye, shaking her hand; Bobby hugged her and Sam just stared at his shoes.

"Bye Sam," Pam said and reached out but the young man shied away.

"Okay," Dean said a little too loudly and shepherded Sam towards the door, "Thank you for your help, Pamela."

Outside, Sam shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his sweater and followed Dean to Bobby's Oldsmobile.

Dean leaned against the passenger's door and Sam stood beside him, head down as if fascinated by the pavement beneath his feet.

"Sam," he didn't look up when his brother called his name.

"Sam, listen to me," Dean repeated, "I know you're frustrated but things are going to get better."

"Sure," Sam muttered, continued to stare at ground.

"They will, Sammy," Dean muttered, sounding more as if he were speaking to himself than his brother now.

SPN

The dark-haired girl trembled in terror, tears coursing silently down her face. She stared wide-eyed at the strange mural at her feet.

"Open the Door," the shadowy figure demanded.

The girl looked to her side at Meg, knowing that the blonde-haired woman would not help her.

"Pl-please," she whimpered, "L-let me go."

"Open the Door!" the man snapped and the girl cringed.

"I w-want t-to go home!" the poor girl wailed and gasped when Meg grabbed her hair and pulled her hair back.

"If you open the door you can go home, okay?" Meg hissed fiercely to the girl and she nodded frantically.

"Yes! Yes!"

Meg stepped back and watched eagerly, hoping that this time it would work.

Ava Wilson set her hands on the mural on the floor, shaking visibly. She stared down at the picture but nothing happened.

"Get another child," Azazel said coldly and stepped forwards. The girl looked up at the yellow-eyed man, "No, please… please don't h-hurt me!"

The demon raised his hand and flicked it, breaking Ava's neck with the same effort it takes to snap a toothpick.

Meg's brow furrowed; she didn't know what to do, they were running out of special children whose talents they needed.

"Daughter, why do you continue to disappoint me?"

The pixie-haired demon didn't look up.

"I am sorry, Father," she murmured, "We will find a child-"

Azazel's sibilant hiss sent a chill down Meg's spine, "See that you do not fail again."

SPN

Sam was sleeping soundly in the back of Bobby's car by the time we rolled up the driveway to Jim's rectory. I kept glancing back at him, frowning. I was worried about the kid.

"What're we going to do, Bobby?" I asked quietly.

The hunter shrugged, "Dunno, boy."

I deflated, sighing tiredly.

That was what I was concerned about. If Pamela Barnes couldn't help Sam master his powers, who could?

"Do you have any other psychic friends?" I asked, smiling wryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Avenged Sevenfold song.


	12. Revelations

Bind all of us together

Ablaze with hope and free,

No storm or heavy weather

Will rock the boat you'll see.

The time has come to close your eyes

And still the wind and rain,

For the one who will be king

Is the watcher in the ring.

It is you.

It is you.

-'Revelations' by Iron Maiden

Sam Winchester could not sleep. He lay on his back on the bed in Jim's second guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could just close his eyes and drift off like Dean but it wasn't happening.

The voices were talking to him again. Calling out to him.

And Sam was scared.

Saaammm…

No, Sam thought, they're not real. Don't listen to them.

...Sammm…

He wanted Dean but he was afraid to get up. He was afraid he'd see things too.

…Sam… come…

He hated it when the voices tried to make him do things he knew he shouldn't. Sometimes they wanted him to hurt people.

Sam put his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown out the voices and gave a choked sob when he found he could still hear them.

…Sam…

…Sam…

…Come…

…SAM…

"DEAN!" Sam shouted and flung himself out of bed. He wrenched open the door and nearly flew down the hallway. He slammed into Dean's door, shaking it in its hinges. His brother opened the door, a frantic look on his face.

"Sammy! What's wrong?" He grabbed Sam's arms and pulled his hands away from his ears.

"They won't go away!" Sam all but wailed, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Okay, okay," Dean wrapped his arms around Sam and hugged him, trying to calm him down.

But Sam didn't want to calm down! He was so tired. He was so tired of hearing the voices. He was so tired of medications that didn't work, that only made him feel sick and sad. He was tired of being tired.

Sam's knees buckled and he sank to the floor, taking Dean with him.

"Please… please," Sam whimpered, "Make them stop… Dean…"

Sam knew he was asking the impossible of his brother but he couldn't help it. Dean always seemed to make anything better and right then Sam wasn't exactly thinking rationally, not with phantom voices whispering insidiously in his head.

"Shhh," Dean murmured, "It's okay, everything's alright."

Sam rested his chin on Dean's shoulder and shivered despite the oversized hoodie he was wearing.

Nothing was alright! Nothing good ever happened to him!

Sam heard a picture fall off the wall beside him in a crunch of glass and Dean tightened his grip on him.

"None of that," Dean murmured, "Just breathe… in, out, in, out…"

Sam sucked in a shaky breath and fisted the back of his brother's t-shirt in his hands, holding on as if for dear life.

The light overhead flickered momentarily before going out, plunging the brothers into darkness.

Sam let out a high-pitched whine of misery and clutched furiously at Dean.

"I've got ya, Sammy," the older brother comforted, "I'm not letting you go."

…Sam...

He squeezed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth together.

…Saaammm…

"Sam," Dean stopped hugging his brother and grabbed his head instead, hands on either side of his younger brother's face, "Look at me, Sam."

The younger sibling opened his eyes and stared into Dean's hazel ones.

"Remember what I told you?"

Sam nodded stiffly, "D-Don't l-listen to 'em."

Dean was always telling Sam not to listen to the voices. Sam was sure his brother said it more often than Dr. Calhoun did.

"That's a good boy," Dean murmured and embraced Sam again.

"D'n," Sam whispered, "I'm s-scared."

"Don't be, Sammy," his brother replied, "As long as I'm here you've got nothing to be scared of."

Sam sniffed and wiped his dripping nose across the back of his hand.

His gaze shifted towards the staircase when he heard the sound of footsteps ascending towards them.

"Dean? Sam? Do you need any help?" Pastor Jim's voice whispered quietly.

"I've got it," Dean told the older man, "Thanks though."

Sam's gaze traveled back to his brother's as the Pastor's footfalls faded.

"Sammy," Dean murmured and shifted where he was crouched on the floor, "Sammy, hey, you're alright."

Sam shook his head- or at least he tried to but Dean still had his hands on either side of his face- and whimpered.

"I am not going to let anything bad happen to you," Dean told Sam sternly, his grip on Sam's head tightening, "You hear me?"

"Deeeann," Sam whispered and raised his hands to his brother's, "L'eggo. You're hurting me."

"Understand me? Sam?" Dean insisted and Sam nodded, eyes wide and tear-filled, snot dribbling from his nose.

Dean finally released Sam and wiped his sleeve over his brother's face as though Sam was a little boy. Dean stood and Sam stared up at him from his position on the floor.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean reached down one hand, "Let's get you back to bed."

Sam accepted his brother's hand and followed Dean as he led him back to his room. The younger man didn't miss his brother's cringe when he flicked on the light and saw the cracks in the windowpanes, the dresser drawers flung open.

"Go on, Sammy," Dean said as he began tidying up the room as much as possible; Sam sat down on the bed but watched his brother.

"M'sorry, Dean," he apologized. Jim had just finished putting new glass in the windows and now they were ruined again.

"Not your fault," Dean muttered distractedly.

Sam nodded but frowned. It was his fault. He still didn't know how to control his psychic ability. Pam had tried to help him but had failed. That had been nearly two weeks ago now.

Dean glanced up and scowled, "Sam. Lie down."

Sam did as his brother asked. He didn't like it when Dean got mad at him. Sam tried to be good. He tried to keep from breaking things and stay quiet and out of the way but Dean seemed to getting more and more angry as the days passed.

Dean's expression softened as he looked down at Sam with his wide, wet green eyes. He pulled Sam's blanket up to his chin.

"You know where I am if you need me," he said gently, patting Sam's chest through the duvet.

"Good night, Sammy," he turned and clicked off the light, leaving the door open a tiny bit so that a sliver of illumination from the hallway filtered into the room.

Sam lay there in bed with his eyes open and the voices in his head whispering for a long, long time.

SPN

I ran a hand tiredly down my face as soon as I left Sam's room. Man, I was exhausted. And stressed. Between learning to hunt with Bobby, searching for signs of Meg Masters and taking care of Sam, my plate was more than full. Sam took up most of my time. It seemed that all the demons had decided to take a vacation at the same time and although Bobby kept searching for that blonde-haired bitch, I spent most of my days with Sam.

I knew the latest prescription wasn't working. It had stopped shortly after we returned from the trip to Illinois to see Pamela Barnes. Sam was more agitated, fidgety; he'd even pace around Jim's living room for hours on end, unable to sit still.

Then Sam had told me that the voices were there again.

I felt trapped between a rock and a hard place. I wanted to get Sam his meds but to do so I would have to call Dr. Calhoun and by now she had likely told John Walsh to put me on America's Most Wanted. If I called Sam's doc, she would insist I bring him back to Alexander's and there was no way I could do that. There would be far too many questions to answer, questions I didn't have convincing enough answers for.

Bobby had suggested 'borrowing' some medicine from the local pharmacy but that wouldn't work either. Anti-psychotics weren't exactly behind-the-counter quality if you know what I mean. It was some pretty heavy-duty shit.

All I could do was make sure Sam continued to take what Dr. Campion had given him and hope that somehow, I'd be able to get him better stuff.

I thought about calling up Jenny and asking her to get us some but decided against it. I didn't want her to get in trouble if she was caught; that sort of thing could result in her losing her job.

The only interesting thing to come out of this mess was the fact that Sam was drawing like a fiend. I had had to stop at Blue Earth's small stationary store to get more notebooks after my brother had filled up all of his current ones.

Sam's sketches often reflected his inner thoughts and feelings and from just a quick glance I knew he was distraught. Pictures of Jess as she had been in death- engulfed in flames- filled the creamy pages of the notebooks.

I felt so useless. I hated not being able to help my brother. But what could I do? It wasn't like I could wave a magic wand and make Sam's mental illness disappear.

Deciding that I wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep I crept downstairs and into the kitchen, following the buttery-yellow light into the room.

Jim was sitting at the table, a cup of tea and a saucer with a couple of homemade shortbread cookies sat before him.

"How's your brother?" he asked, brining the cup to his lips.

I shrugged and poured some hot water into a mug of my own, dunking a teabag into it a few times absentmindedly.

"I think he's getting worse."

Jim's eyes pinched in sympathy.

"Bobby knows a hunter- Jefferson- who may be able to help," he said quietly, "He was a medic in 'Nam. I'm sure he'll know where to go to get your brother something."

I appreciated the offer. I shook my head though.

"Sam's meds aren't like Tylenol and Advil, Jim," I told him, "You can't just substitute one for the other if you need to. Some of the stuff Sam takes has some unpleasant side-effects and we have to make sure Sam isn't allergic to it either."

I frowned, recalling one bad incident where Sam had been given a new medication- already not a great thing- that had trace amounts of shellfish in it- God only knows why- and had gone into anaphylaxis. Luckily, Sam was sketching in the rec room and both the nurse giving the other patients their pills- and the orderly watching out for everyone- were able to act quickly when my brother had the attack.

Needless to say Mom and I were as pissed as hell when we found out what had happened. Sam had an EpiPen but before then there had been no problem; all the employees were aware of any dietary restrictions in the patients but apparently no one thought to check the ingredient list on my brother's medication before giving it out.

Dr. Calhoun had been a simpering kiss-ass. She knew someone, somewhere had fucked up.

After that, the doctor made sure Sam's medications were checked and double-checked to prevent another mistake from happening. I think it wasn't so much that she cared about my brother but rather her own skin. I had threatened to charge her will negligence if anything like Sam's attack should ever happen again and that had shut the good doctor up for a while.

"Are you getting through to him at all?" Jim's question brought me back to the present and I sighed.

"Maybe," I muttered, "I don't know. It's hard, Jim. He's been through this same routine so many times I'm sure he's sick of it by now."

"Well, keep doing whatever it is you're doing. And let me know if you change your mind about Jefferson," the Pastor said and put his empty cup in the sink.

"You can have those if you like," he pointed to the cookies still sitting on the table.

"Thanks," I said and sat down, staring into the clear brown tea in my mug.

SPN

The tiny blonde-haired girl collapsed in a heap, dead before she hit the ground.

Azazel was becoming frustrated. His eyes flashed yellow as he turned his gaze on Meg, his daughter.

"I… don't know what to say, Father," the female demon said, hands held out in supplication, "One of these children should be able to open the Door."

"Clearly, something went wrong," the male demon growled angrily.

"There is one more," Barclay spoke up, surprising both Azazel and Meg.

"Sam Winchester," the large demon continued, "The final child."

Ah yes, Azazel remembered him.

Meg's eyes widened, sparkling gleefully.

Of course! Why hadn't she seen it before?

"Bring him here," Azazel ordered and both Meg and Barclay nodded, walking down the aisle past the pews, eager to please the other demon.

Alone, the yellow-eyed man stared down at the mural that had been constructed over the Door hundreds of years ago.

"Soon," he whispered, "You'll be free soon."

SPN

Sam cracked his knuckles, switching his pencil to his other hand and stared down at the picture he was currently sketching.

It showed an old, crumbling church, its stained-glass windows broken and its walls ivy-covered.

Dean glanced up at him from where he sat on the couch.

"You okay, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged and continued sketching, trying to ignore the voices.

SPN

I looked up at Bobby as he got off the phone with Rufus.

"Still nothing going on with demons," the grizzled hunter told me, "I don't know what to say. Nothing like this has happened before."

I frowned and peered into the living room where Sam sat with a notebook and a pencil.

"Something's going to happen," I admitted the strange feeling I'd been having. From years of patrolling the streets of Utica, I knew that when all the criminals were quiet, something as up.

Bobby gave me a look that said he was way ahead of me, "Can't do nothing about it though."

"Why not? Can't you, I don't know… let all the other hunters know what's going on?"

The hunter chuckled, "We're not exactly that organized, son."

I sighed tiredly, "I don't like this, Bobby. I really don't like this."

"I know, son," the hunter muttered.

SPN

Dean glanced down at the orange prescription bottle and then at Sam. The younger man fidgeted nervously. Dean turns his attention to Bobby.

"You sure these are kosher?"

The grizzled hunter nodded, "Jefferson knows what he's doing."

Popping open the childproof lid of the bottle, Dean shook a couple of plain white pills onto his palm.

"They up to your standards?" Bobby asked sarcastically and Dean gave him a withering look.

"Hopefully these will work, Sammy," Dean told his brother and Bobby handed the youngest Winchester a glass of water.

Sam's brother tipped the pills into his hand and the young man sighed. He hoped Dean was right and these new pills would make the voices go away, at least for a little while.

Dean and Bobby left Sam where he was, sitting in his usual chair with a pencil and notebook.

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. He wanted to turn on Pastor Jim's phonograph but he didn't move.

…Sam…

Shut up, Sam thought tiredly, just shut up.

…come…

NO! Sam exclaimed silently and stood up, began pacing the floor in front of his chair. He wrung his hands nervously.

He knew it would take a while- sometimes as quick as a few days, other times it was as long as a month- for the new medication to begin to help.

Where was Dean? Sam didn't want to be alone.

Turning to the kitchen, he went into the room even though he knew his brother wouldn't be inside.

…Sammm…

He stood in the middle of the room, brow furrowed. He was supposed to be looking for Dean.

…Sam…

Sam wrapped his arms around his abdomen and stepped forward. He just wanted the voices to stop. He was so tired of always being sick. He was tired of always being scared.

Sam walked over to the silverware drawer and stared down at the array of knives sitting inside.

He couldn't go back to Alexander's, not now- not that Sam wanted to return- and he couldn't live with Dean or their Dad. Dr. Calhoun would say that he wasn't well enough to be left alone.

Sam reached into the drawer and picked up a steak knife.

…Do it…

…Sam…you…

…know you have… to…

The voices were more insistent now, egging him on.

But he couldn't do it! He had failed in the past so why would it work now?

Sam lifted his hands to the sides of his head, fingers still clutching the knife and he let out a frustrated cry.

"SAM!" a voice- not one of the ones in his head- shouted and he turned around to see his brother standing in the doorway.

"Sammy, no," Dean stepped forwards, one hand outstretched, speaking to him as though he was a child.

"Give me the knife."

"D-Dean," Sam stammered, not moving.

"Now, Sam."

Dean did not look happy. He looked angry. Sam had made Dean angry again.

"I w-wasn't-" Sam tried to explain but Dean interrupted, "The knife, Sam."

Sam, tears welling up in his eyes, lowered his hands and pointed the knife towards his brother.

Dean grabbed the utensil quickly and threw it across the room, into the living room.

"What the fuck?" he growled and Sam backed up at the sound.

"I w-wasn't… I wasn't… Y-You don't under… understand…" Sam stuttered, tears rolling down his face.

Dean's expression, though still angry, softened somewhat in sympathy.

"Don't you ever do that again! You hear me?"

Sam lowered his head, ashamed, and nodded.

"You scared the shit out of me, Sammy."

Dean approached his brother but when he went to touch Sam's arm, the younger man dodged his hand.

"Don't!" Sam exclaimed, "Please."

Dean lowered his hand and sighed, "C'mon."

He followed Sam as he walked from the kitchen.

W

Dean didn't let Sam leave his side for the rest of the day. He didn't tell Bobby or Jim what had happened- at least not while Sam was in the room- but the youngest Winchester could tell the hunters knew something was wrong.

Sam tried to hide in his hoodie and remain quiet.

He didn't even feel like drawing anymore.

W

Sam didn't argue with his brother when Dean told him to go to bed at 7 pm. He was used to going to bed early anyway and was thankful for the chance to be alone for a while, not having to see the disappointment in Dean's eyes anymore.

Sam pulled his jeans off and shrugged out of his sweater before sitting down on his bed, clad only in his boxer shorts. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and glanced down at his left wrist.

Sam examined the pale thin scars that criss-crossed his skin and grimaced. He vividly recalled the night he had first tried to kill himself at Alexander's. The patients were only given plastic cutlery to eat with but Sam had stolen a letter opener from the nurses' station near the front of the building.

He remembered feeling so helpless, so hopeless; nothing was going to get better, he would be in the hospital for the rest of his life.

Sam closed his eyes and closed his fingers over the scars on his wrist.

W

Sam…

Sitting up, confused, Sam realized he'd fallen asleep on top of his bed. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. The blinds were open but no light shone through the window; it was nighttime.

…Sam…

No, please, Sam thought, just wishing the voices would stop. He stood up and turned to the bed, preparing to tug the blanket down and go back to sleep when the voice spoke up again.

…Sammy…

Sam's eyebrows knitted in confusion. The voice sounded different. He didn't know how to explain it; he could have sworn he'd heard it before, and not in his head. This wasn't the same voice he had been hearing earlier.

…Sam… come…

Sam turned on his heel and walked to the window. He squinted outside, eyes fixed on the front lawn of the rectory.

Reeling back, Sam let out a frightened cry as he recognized two figures peering up at him.

"No," he moaned and tears filled his eyes.

…Come…

"D'n," Sam choked and shook with fear.

…Sam…

The voice- Sam knew now that it belonged to Meg- was insistent and he recalled how easy it had been for his possessed father to enter the house.

… Yes… Come…

Feeling as though he had no other choice, Sam turned away from the window and walked out of his bedroom and down the hall. His footsteps were silent as he crept downstairs, hoping that Dean wouldn't hear. He didn't want his brother to get hurt.

Moving through the house on autopilot, Sam unlocked the front door and stepped outside.

"Hey, Sam, miss us?" Meg grinned, her eyes flashing pitch black in the darkness.

SPN

I couldn't sleep. Not when I felt like such a dick.

How was it that I had possibly prevented my brother from seriously hurting himself and yet I felt like the bad guy?

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to think of something I could say to Sam to remind him that I was only concerned for him, that I wasn't pissed at him but the situation.

Sighing, I rolled over from my back to my side and closed my eyes. Maybe I could make it up to Sam tomorrow. Take him to the library perhaps. Sam would like that.

SPN

Sam stared up at the man with bright yellow eyes, Meg and Barclay on either side of him.

"Samuel Winchester," the yellow-eyed man announced, smirking, "Welcome."

The young man didn't reply. He shook. He was cold and scared.

"Wh-who are y-you?" he whimpered, his gaze never leaving those lemon-yellow eyes.

The man smiled condescendingly down at him, "All in good time. Now, first, I require a task of you."

Sam took a step back, his heartbeat speeding up sharply. The man with yellow eyes motioned for Sam to follow him and the young man does, walking down the middle aisle between the pews.

The stopped at the front of the church and the man pointed down to a mural on the floor. Sam glanced down and what appeared to be a woman with long blonde hair floating above a sea of flames. The woman was wearing a white dress and had a golden halo above her head, silvery wings spreading out from her shoulder blades. One of the angel's hands gripped a sword, its blade pointed toward the sky while her free hand was raised to the level of her breast, index and middle finger pointing upwards with the ring and pinkie fingers being held down by her thumb.

Sam looked up at the man, confused. Why had Meg and Barclay brought him here only to show him a piece of art?

"You must open the Door for me, boy," the yellow-eyed man told him.

Sam tried to back up but Meg grabbed his arm, hanging on, grinning.

"You're our last chance, Sammy," she told him, "I know you can do it. The others failed but I have faith in you."

"I c-can't," Sam stuttered, "I d-don't know how… please l-let me go."

"You will," the man told him sternly, "Do not disappoint me."

Sam lashed out when Meg began dragging him backwards, away from the yellow-eyed man.

"Please! Please!" Sam cried and Barclay strode forward and grabbed his flailing arm tightly.

The two demons manhandled Sam down a narrow set of stairs and shoved into a large, bare room with cracked tile floors; they were in the church basement. Sam glanced around and his heart leapt into his throat when he saw a dried brownish stain on the floor.

Meg and Barclay released Sam and the young man hugged the wall, terrified.

"P-please d-don't hurt me," he whimpered and Meg chuckled.

"You already know how this works, Sammy. We'll leave you alone just as soon as you open the Door for us."

SPN

I scrubbed a hand over my face and knocked lightly on Sam's door.

"Sammy? Hey, you awake?" I called, hoping Sam wasn't still upset with me.

"Sam?" I said louder when I didn't receive a response, "I'm coming in, okay?"

The doorknob turned easily in my hand and I blinked in surprise when I didn't see my brother.

Was he downstairs already?"

Turning, I stomped down the stairs and peered into the living room. No Sam. Same with the kitchen. I walked down the hall and peered into Jim's 'media' room but didn't think my brother would have anything to do with computers and the like.

"Sam?" I called, beginning to get nervous.

Back in the living room I looked at the closed basement door and my heart dropped into my stomach.

Oh no, I begged as I wrenched open the door, please don't let me find Sam down here… please let him-

My brother wasn't in the basement either.

"BOBBY! JIM!"

SPN

Sam curled in on himself, tears and blood dripping down his face. Meg stared at him thoughtfully.

"Think we should bring him back up now?" Barclay asked, thick arms crossed over his chest.

"Hm… not just yet," the female demon commented and grinned toothily.

SPN

"Well, where the hell could he have gone to?" Bobby asked, scratching sleepily at his beard.

"I don't know!" I exclaimed, panic constricting my chest, "Jim, you know Blue Earth best-"

The Pastor nodded, "But you know Sam. Has he ever done something like this before? Where would he go to feel safe?"

Trust the two hunters to be as cool as cucumbers in this situation. Here I was, veteran cop, freaking out that my brother had run away.

"I don't know," I admitted, "Sam only really knows Alexander's… my place… our parents' house…"

It had been a while since my brother had been well enough to be out of the hospital and when he was, he stuck pretty close to home.

Jim's brow furrowed as he considered all the places Sam might end up.

"I can drive down to the church," he suggested, "See if he's there."

"Okay," I said and looked over helplessly at Bobby.

"I'll cruise around town," the grizzled hunter announced.

I nodded and sighed.

"Stay here, Dean," Jim told me, "In case Sam comes back."

I rolled my eyes. The Pastor didn't have to tell me twice.

SPN

Sam watched in fascination as crimson drops of blood fell onto the mural. On his hands and knees, the three demons towered over him.

"Open. The. Door," the yellow-eyed man's tone was short and clipped; he was clearly displeased with Sam.

"I… I… d-don't kn-kn-" Sam tried but couldn't manage to speak, he was shaking too much.

He gasped as Barclay grabbed his hair and pulled him up.

"Try again," the man with yellow-eyes told them, glaring at Sam.

"Nuh- No," Sam whispered, "Pl-please."

SPN

Was this my fault?

Did I make Sam run away?

I paced restlessly around the house, waiting.

I wondered if I should let Dad know. No, I decided, not yet. No use in worrying Dad if Sam turned up a couple of hours from now.

I sat down in my brother's favourite chair and stared despondently at one of his notebooks.

Come back, Sammy. Please.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes when he heard the door to the basement room lock behind the demons. He shivered and wiped his sweaty bangs off his forehead.

He wished he could just open their Door so Meg and Barclay would leave him alone.

Sam thought about what the demon had said before, about there being others who had failed. Others like him?

Sam suddenly recalled the portraits he had drawn and kept hidden from Dean after his brother had joked about a girl he was sketching. He had seen them in his dreams but he hadn't known who they were. He vividly recalled a girl with dark brown hair cut into a bob, a boy with blonde hair and at least three or four more.

Sam thought back to when he'd first been kidnapped by Meg and Barclay and how they were looking for something, waiting for something.

Sam thought about his strange new power that hadn't been there before. He recalled the hunters wondering if it wasn't natural at all, but something else.

Meg and Barclay had awakened his power! It made sense!

Was that what they needed now? To open their door?

Sam swallowed thickly and closed his eyes as his body was wracked with pain.

If only he could control his power than he could do what the man with the yellow eyes wanted and then maybe they would leave him alone.

SPN

I absentmindedly flipped through the pages of Sam's notebook, not really looking at the pictures too intently but just giving myself something to do.

Where are you, Sammy?

Sighing, I started to set the book back on the side table when a loose page slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

"Shit," I swore, not wanting my brother to know I had been looking through his things.

Half-sitting up, I grabbed the paper and flipped it over so I could see what Sam had drawn.

My heart stopped beating.

SPN

Sam struggled against the demons but he was too weak. Blinking blood from his eyes, the young man gazed down at the mural, focusing on the angel's benevolent face.

"Open the Door, Samuel," the yellow-eyed man demanded.

Barclay and Meg released Sam and he lowered himself to the floor. He bit his lip and tried to concentrate, tried to tell the door to open! open! open!

Sam's arms shook and he collapsed. Whimpering, he tried to get back up but he was too weak, was in too much pain.

Tears streamed down his cheeks and onto the mural beneath him, "I c-can't..."

Furious, the man grabbed Sam by the shoulders and heaved him up.

"You will open the Door, boy," the yellow-eyed demon snarled, "You just need some better persuasion perhaps. There is more than one way to skin a cat."

"Father?" Meg looked confusedly at the man but he held up a hand to silence her.

Sam struggled in the man's grasp, terrified. The yellow-eyed demon dragged Sam along with him as he headed towards the stairs.

Meg and Barclay followed, confused and excited at the same time.

Once they had entered the basement room, the man with yellow eyes shoved Sam away from himself and turned to face the two other demons.

"Leave us!"

Meg took a step forward, "But-"

"Leave!"

She didn't have to be told a third time. Closing the door behind herself and Barclay, Meg disappeared upstairs, leaving Sam and Azazel alone.

SPN

I don't believe it.

I don't fucking believe it.

There. Right in front of me is a picture of my Mom's dream. Sketched out in black and white.

It was all there. The scene before the alter. I recognized two figures as Meg and Barclay from Sam's other sketches but the third figure I didn't know. The thing that caught my attention though, was the final figure. His head was lowered until his chin nearly touched his chest, his long hair obscuring his face but I knew without a doubt that that was Sammy.

Oh my God.

I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and dialled Jim's number, telling him to get his ass back here now! and then did the same for Bobby.

I stared at the picture while I waited for the hunters to return, as though if I concentrated on it hard enough, I would be transported inside and to my brother.

"Dean! Son! What's that you've got there?" Bobby's voice rang through the rectory, startling me and I show him the sketch.

"Do you recognize anything?" I asked, hoping he would say yes.

The grizzled hunter took the picture from my clammy hands and studied it.

"Nothin' about the church itself particularly sticks out," he admitted, "But maybe Jim'll know."

We waited an agonizing ten minutes before the Pastor returned and then I was practically shoving the paper in his face.

"Please say something jumps out at you," I nearly begged, feeling so close, yet so far from Sammy.

Jim frowned and my heart skipped a beat. Shanking his head, Jim sighed, "I'm sorry, Dean, its just not detailed enough to be any church I recognize."

I lowered my head, defeated. There must be thousands of churches in the country, even abandoned ones. There was no way we'd find Sam.

"Hold on," Jim muttered and walked purposefully into the kitchen. Rummaging in the junk drawer he pulled out a magnifying glass and squinted through it at the sketch.

"I'll be damned," he whispered, startling me.

"What is it?" Bobby asked and I leaned over the table, my nose inches from the paper.

"See, underneath that window?" Jim pointed to one of the broken stained-glass windows Sam had drawn across from the alter.

"Yeah," I mumbled, "What about it?"

"Here," Jim handed me the magnifying glass and I stared at the sketch of the window, "Look under the sill."

I did as he asked and saw, in minute writing, some Latin phrase that was beyond my comprehension.

"Sam doesn't know any Latin," I looked up and set the glass aside.

"He didn't have to know what it means," Jim explained, "That plaque was given to the church by Pope John Paul II when he visited. I know what church it is."

"What?" Bobby asked.

"St. Mary's in Ilchester."

SPN

"Now, Samuel," Azazel said, "Be a good boy and open the Door."

Meg watched the young man. He was sitting up on his knees in front of the mural, head down, shoulders hitching as he cried.

"I don't think you want to do that again," the demon continued and Sam shook his head frantically, "So, open the Door and I won't hurt you."

Sam held out a trembling, blood-smeared hand and Meg caught her breath, leaning forward eagerly.

The young man made a choking sound and lowered his hand, ducking his head.

Azazel swept past Meg, towards Sam and grabbed a handful of the young man's hair.

"No! Please! L-let me try a-a-again!" he cried and turned hurt eyes on Meg as though she would help him.

The female demon didn't react as her father dragged Sam back downstairs, the young man pleading the entire time.

SPN

I hate flying.

I really, really hate it.

Okay, well, it isn't so much a hate as a fear.

I'm terrified to fly but goddamn it I would do it for Sam.

I had told Bobby and Jim as such so thirty minutes later I found myself on a flight headed straight for Maryland.

To drive all the way to Ilchester would take almost eighteen hours but by plane, it only took two and a half.

I fidgeted anxiously in my seat, earning concerned glances from the Pastor.

"I'm fine," I growled when he asked me for the fiftieth time if I was alright.

I'd be so much better once we landed.

Actually, I'd be fucking perfect once I had Sam safe with me again.

SPN

Sam couldn't even think straight. He stared down at the mural of the angel and wondered how he ever thought she looked benevolent in the first place. Upon further scrutiny, Sam realized that the angel looked unkind, angry, evil.

"The Door," Azazel prompted and Sam flinched, whimpering.

Sam touched the mural, smearing blood across the angel's white dress.

He had to do this. He couldn't take it anymore.

Sam closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could.

Open. Open. Just open. Please. Please open.

Sam's eyes shot open when he heard a grinding sound and he saw one of the marble columns used to support the intricate church ceiling, had a large crack slashing down its length.

Open. Open. Please. Please.

The plywood covering the broken windows shuddered, nails popping out and dropping to the moth-eaten carpet.

Please. Open. Let this end. Please.

Sam scrambled back in fear when the mural began to glow with blinding white light. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness and then clapped both palms to his ears when a high-pitched ringing filled the church.

Looking fearfully over his shoulder, Sam saw the demons were still there, all three with a gleefully look upon his or her face.

Realizing now was his one chance to escape, the young man dove between two pews and crawled painfully on his hands and knees away from the demons and the Door.

The keening sound seemed to grow louder and louder and Sam groaned in pain, his eardrums surely bleeding.

He took a risk and peeked over the top of one pew. The demons still hadn't noticed him. That, or they no longer cared about him.

Agonizingly slow, Sam crawled towards the doors of the church, biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out.

Tears continued to leak from his swollen, burning eyes, making it difficult to see, but Sam pressed onwards. He didn't know what was happening and he didn't want to be in the church when whatever was on the other side of the door came out.

Sam staggered to the front doors and tried to pull them open, only to find them locked fast.

"No," he whispered, desperately, "No, no, please. No."

Sam tugged again but the doors refused to move. He glanced to the side and saw a plywood covered window and rushed to it. Digging his nails in, he tried to pry the wood away from the empty windowsill.

The shriek grew louder still and Sam fell to his knees, his strength waning fast. Falling onto his side, he stared dazedly at the bright light coming up from the mural, the demons black silhouettes against its glow.

SPN

I jumped from the rental car even before it had stopped moving and dashed towards the church, not even pausing to look to the sky, where a feakin' search light was ascending from somewhere inside the building.

"SAMMY!" I shouted as loudly as I could, trying to make my voice heard over the strange high, whistling sound.

I slammed into the church's double doors and yanked on the handles with all my strength.

"SAM! SAMMY!"

"Dean! Get away from there!" I heard Bobby's warning as though he was shouting at me from one end of a long tunnel. I ignored him. I had to get to my brother.

"SAM! SAM!"

I gasped when I felt someone- Bobby- tackle me to the ground and begin to drag me away from the church doors.

"What are you doing? Let me go! SAMMY! SAM-"

My voice was cut off when the church exploded.

Bobby and I were flung backwards into the street. Dazed, but unhurt- my ears ringing like a son of a bitch- I scrambled to my feet and stared at…

Nothing. The church was gone. Only a mound of smouldering rubble remained.

"NO! NOOO!" I cried and started towards the site. I didn't make it. My knees collapse under my weight and I sank onto the burnt grass of the lawn.

Dimly I could hear Bobby and Jim calling my name and the wail of emergency vehicles but I ignored them all.

Sam, my little brother, was gone.

I hadn't been able to protect him like I'd promised to do.

I was a failure.

"S-Sammy," I sobbed, "Sammy… no… please…"

I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder and allowed Bobby to help me stand.

"C'mon Dean," he murmured sadly, "C'mon son."

I turned around and peered at the ruins behind me.

Sam couldn't be gone. He just couldn't. Not now. Not after everything.

Bobby guided me to sit in the rental car- its windows blow out from the explosion- and Jim turned on the radio.

I smiled tearfully when the Beatles' song 'Blackbird' came on; it was one of Sam's favourites and I turned away from the church, leaning my brow against the headrest of the front seat.

I closed my eyes and listened to the music as tears dripped down my face and onto the floor of the car.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from an Iron Maiden song.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfiction title comes from a Poets of the Fall song.  
> Chapter title comes from an Alice in Chains song.


End file.
